Marmaduk( 


Marmaduke 


By 

Flora  Annie  Steel 

Author  of 

"On  the  Face  of  the  Waters,"  "A  Sovereign  Remedy,' 

•  ■  King-Errant,"  etc. 


*  a 


New  York 
Frederick  A.   Stokes  Company 


Publishers 
1917 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


BOOK   I 


433574 


CHAPTER  I 

"  HELLO,  Davie  !  Is  that  you,  Davie  Sim  ?"  cried  a  joyous 
young  voice;  then  it  changed  suddenly,  with  a  verve 
which  showed  pure  delight  in  the  unfamiliar  yet  familiar 
dialect,  from  correct  English  to  the  broadest  Aberdeen- 
shire accent.  "  Eh,  mon,  ye're  joost  the  same  ow'd  tod  o 
a  pease-bogle  wi'  yer  bonnet  ajee,  an*  a  crookit  mou' ;  yen 
hauf  given  tae  psaulm  singin*  and  tither  tae  pipe-blaw- 
ing !"  The  voice  paused  a  bit  breathlessly  as  if  it  had 
exhausted  itself  over  the  unwonted  exercise,  then  went  on 
in  slightly  less  aggressive  Doric.  "Well,  Fm  blythe  to 
see  you  lookin'  sae  weel.     An*  is  that  tall  lass  Marrion  ?" 

An  easy  gallantry  came  to  his  tones  as  the  speaker,  a 
fine  young  fellow  of  obviously  military  bearing,  turned  to 
a  girl  who  stood  very  still  by  the  window. 

"  By  gad,"  the  young  man  went  on  with  the  same  easy 
condescension,  "  you  have  grown  into  a  pretty  girl !  Give 
us  a  kiss,  my  dear ;  you  know  you  used  to  be  fond  of '  Mr. 
Duke '  in  the " 

Then  suddenly  silence  fell  between  the  two  young 
people.  Something  in  the  tall  still  figure  by  the  window 
seemed  to  abash  the  tall  figure  making  its  way  easily 
towards  it,  and  left  them  looking  at  each  other  critically. 

They  were  as  fine  a  couple  physically  as  God  ever  made 
to  come  together  as  man  and  woman.  They  were  almost 
alike  in  stature  and  strength — she  slightly  the  smaller — 
and  both  seemed  equal  in  abounding  health,  though  he 

3 


4  MA RM A DUKE 

was  florid  and  she  somewhat  pale  with  the  pallor  of  the 
thick  creamy  skin  that  goes  with  red-bronze  hair. 

She  spoke  at  last,  the  thin  curves  of  her  mouth  clipping 
her  words  sharply. 

"  There's  mony  to  tell  me  yon  and  crave  kisses  since 
you  an*  me  was  harflins  together,  Mr.  Duke,"  she  said 
coolly.     "  I  beg  yer  pardon,  Captain  Marmaduke  !" 

The  Honourable  Captain  Marmaduke  Muir,  second  son 
of  the  sixteenth  Baron  Drummuir  of  Drummuir,  home 
on  leave  after  an  absence  of  ten  years  on  foreign  service, 
looked  at  the  grand-daughter  of  his  father's  head  piper 
and  general  majordomo  as  if  considering  anger.  He 
was  too  good  looking  to  be  accustomed  to  such  rebuffs 
from  pretty  girls,  especially  when  they  were  manifestly 
beneath  him  in  station.  Then  suddenly  he  laughed. 
The  years  had  fled,  and  he  was  a  boy  again  in  fast  fel- 
lowship with  a  small  hoyden  of  a  girl ;  a  girl  four  years 
his  junior,  but  infinitely  his  superior  in  common  sense;  a 
girl  who  had  kept  him  out  of  many  a  scrape  and  who 
hadn't  scrupled  on  occasion  to  box  his  ears,  young  master 
though  he  was.  With  a  sudden  flash  of  memory  the 
occasion  came  back  to  him,  and  he  saw  himself,  a  strong 
lad  of  fourteen,  wading  a  swollen  stream  with  the  ten- 
year-old  girlie  on  his  back,  a  string  of  handsome  trouties 
he  had  been  catching  hanging  like  a  tail  from  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  burden.  He  heard  the  agonised  cry 
in  mid-stream,  "  They're  slippin',  Maister  Duke,  they're 
slippin' !  Let  me  down  till  I  hoosen  them  up  !"  He 
heard  the  stiff  reply :  "  Let  'em  slip ;  I'll  no  let  ye  down 
tae  soak  ye  through!"  And  then  the  woeful  battle  of 
wills  that  ensued,  while  the  trouties  slipped  from  the 
string  one  by  one.     A  battle  which  ended  in  a  sobbing 


MARMADUKE  5 

girlie  ankle  deep  in  water,  an  empty  string,  and  a  defiant 
lad  with  young  crimson  ears.  He  felt  his  mature  ones 
tingle  with  amusement  at  the  recollection,  and  at  the 
recognition  that  the  girlie  was  as  ready  of  resentment  as 
ever. 

"  Ods  bobs,  Marmie  !"  he  cried,  his  face  full  of  mischief. 
"It  seems  you've  no  forgotten  the  whaur-aboots  of  my 
lugs,"  and  his  hands  went  up  to  his  face  as  if  to  protect 
them. 

The  girl  crimsoned. 

"I  begged  your  pardon  then,  Captain  Marmaduke, 
and  I  beg  it  again  if  I've  offended "  she  began  de- 
fiantly. 

He  interrupted  her  with  an  absolutely  charming  smile, 
a  deference  that  was  unanswerable. 

"  And  I  beg  yours  for  remembering  what  I  should  have 
forgotten.  So  we  are  quits  and  can  surely  shake  hands 
on  it  like  the  good  friends  we  always  were,  and  " — here 
his  voice  took  on  additional  charm — "always  will  be. 
Of  that  I  am  sure." 

His  bold  blue  eyes  were  on  hers  frankly,  and  she  gave 
him  back  his  look  steadily.  So  they  stood,  shapely  hand 
in  shapely  hand,  for  a  second.  Then  his  left  fingers 
caught  at  hers  and  felt  the  first  one  inquisitively. 

"  Hullo,  seamstress,  that's  new  ?"  he  queried,  evidently 
pleased  with  his  own  cleverness  in  detection. 

Marrion  Paul  drew  her  hand  away  sharply. 

"I've  been  at  the  dressmaking  in  Edinbro*  these  six 
years  since  grandfather  married,"  she  replied  coldly. 

Marmaduke  looked  at  Davie  Sim  incredulously. 

11  What,  Davie !  You  old  reprobate,  who  the  deuce 
did  you  get  to  marry  you  ?" 


6  MARMADUKE 

There  was  no  answer.  Possibly  Davie  did  not  hear, 
for  he  was  rootling  round  the  kitchen  fire  with  the  poker 
— a  most  unnecessary  task  that  sweltering  June  day. 
Perhaps,  also,  it  was  flame-reflection  which  made  his  face 
show  red  under  the  wide  Tarn  o*  Shanter  bonnet  he  in- 
variably wore  in  his  own  house ;  why  it  would  be  difficult 
to  say,  except  that  outside  the  precincts  of  home  he  was 
for  ever  doffing  it  before  somebody  or  another.  For 
Davie  Sims  had  been  born  hereditary  servitor  to  the 
Drummuir  family,  and  had  every  intention  of  dying  in 
the  same  position. 

"  He  married  Penelope  from  the  castle,"  came  Marrion's 
voice  relentlessly,  "and  his  lordship  gave  her  away." 

"  The  devil  he  did,"  remarked  the  young  man  help- 
lessly to  both  pieces  of  information,  after  a  moment's 
pause  due  evidently  to  mingled  outrage  and  amusement. 
"  Well,"  he  added,  in  male  defiance  of  the  woman's  point 
of  view,  "  I  expect  she  makes  him  an  excellent  wife." 

"  Most  excellent !"  assented  Marrion,  with  a  curl  of  her 
lip.  "So,  as  she  happens  to  be  gone  on  a  visit,  I  have 
come  back  to  stay  a  while — a  little  while — with  grand- 
father." 

Her  diction,  bar  the  one  slight  slip,  was  as  free  from 
provincialism  as  his  own,  and  Marmaduke  Muir  looked 
at  her  appreciatively.  She  was  different  from  the  hoyden 
he  had  left.  Perhaps  in  Edinburgh  she  had  gone  in  for 
classes.  And  she  was  better  looking  too,  though  much 
too  tall  for  a  woman.  Then  her  mouth,  though  passable 
in  its  thin  decided  curves,  was  far  too  wide  for  beauty. 

Still,  she  was  altogether  sufficiently  pleasant  to  look 
upon  for  Marmaduke  to  feel  it  necessary  for  him  to  charm. 
Not  that  either  by  nature  or  art  he  was  a  lady-killer. 


MARMADUKE  7 

To  do  him  justice,  he  would  have  felt  just  the  same  had 
the  attraction  been  male  or  neuter.  Simply  he  always 
desired  to  please  what  was  pleasant  to  himself,  and  his 
tastes  were  catholic. 

So  he  said  almost  sentimentally  : 

"  Well,  I  am  very  glad  you're  here.  We  shall  be  able 
to  spend  our  birthdays  together  as  we  used  to  in  the  old 
times.  Eighteenth  of  June !  Waterloo  day !  Good 
heavens,  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  I  shall  be  thirty  to- 
morrow, and  you  ?"  He  positively  blushed,  for  in  the 
year  1 848  it  was  almost  indecent  for  an  unmarried  woman 
to  be  six-and-twenty.  Marrion,  however,  had  no  such 
qualms. 

"  Twenty-six,"  she  said  calmly ;  perhaps  she  knew  she 
did  not  look  it. 

"  Anyhow,"  he  went  on  hastily,  as  if  to  escape  from  an 
unwelcome  fact,  "I  have  brought  you  a  present  from 
foreign  parts."  He  had  not  even  thought  of  one ;  in  fact, 
he  had  only  given  his  old  playmate  a  passing  remem- 
brance, wondering  whom  she  had  married ;  but  he  knew 
his  boxes  contained  enough  trifles  for  the  home  folk  to 
enable  him  to  spare  one,  and  he  could  no  more  help  trying 
to  charm  than  he  could  help  breathing.  "And  now," 
he  added,  "  I  must  be  off.  Tell  me,  Davie,  like  a  good 
soul,  where  I  am  likely  to  find  his  lordship  this  time  of 
day.  I'm  cursed  early,"  he  continued  a  bit  ruefully,  u  but 
that's  the  worst  of  me.  Fm  always  in  such  a  devil  of  a 
hurry." 

"  You  came  across  the  ferry  ?"  asked  Marrion  sym- 
pathetically. 

He  turned  to  her  at  once. 

"  Yes.     It  was  the  first  coach.     I  wouldn't  wait  for  the 


8  MARMADUKE 

later  one.  And  then  when  I  got  to  the  Cross  Keys  and 
saw  the  old  place  over  the  water,  I  wouldn't  wait  to  go 
round  by  the  bridges.  So  Andrew— you  remember 
Andrew  Fraser,  of  course?— 'pon  my  soul,  he's  been  a 
first-class  orderly  ever  since  he  joined,  and  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  have  done  without  him ;  nursed  me  like  a 
mother  when  I'd  fever  and  all  that  sort  of  thing— a  real 
honest  good  chap.  Well,  he  got  out  the  valise  and  car- 
ried it  down  the  ferry  road.  I  didn't  know,  you  see,  that 
the  ferry  was  disused ;  but  we  luckily  found  someone's 
boat — and  here  I  am — too  soon  ! " 

"  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Davie  Sim,  with  caution,  "  that  his 
lordship  at  this  hour  will,  mayhap,  be  inspec'in'  the  pig- 
styes." 

"Pigstyes!"  echoed  Marmaduke  theatrically.  "Say 
not  so !  Dash  it  all,  I  can't  do  prodigal  in  a  pigstye ! 
I  demand  a  byre  and  a  fatted  calf.  Well,  I  suppose  I 
had  better  ring  at  the  front  door  and  ask  the  butler  if 
my  Lord  Drummuir  is  at  home  like  any  orra'  stranger. 
So — ta,  ta,  for  the  present !" 

He  waved  an  easy  hand  to  Marrion  as  he  passed  out. 
She  hesitated  a  second,  then  followed  him  into  the  sunlit 
courtyard  and  called — 

"Captain  Duke!" 

He  turned,  looking  so  handsome  and  debonnaire  that 
her  purpose  almost  wavered.  Why  should  she  pour  gall 
and  wormwood  into  his  cup  of  life  before  circumstances 
made  the  bitter  inevitable  ?  Still,  since  it  had  to  come, 
and  that  shortly,  it  was  as  well  he  should  be  prepared  for 
it.  So  much  depended  on  the  relations  between  him  and 
his  father  that  it  was  better  he  should  not  be  taken  un- 
awares. 


MARMADUKE  9 

"  If  you  are  wanting  to  see  his  lordship  the  now,"  she 
said,  her  phrasing  astray  once  more  under  pressure  of 
other  thoughts,  "you  wad  find  him  in  the  south  avenue. 
He  was  there  when  I  came  frae  the  town  the  now,  cutting 
away  at  yen  of  the  big  beech  trees." 

"  Cutting  at  a  big  beech  tree  !  What  the  deuce  do  you 
mean  ?"  queried  Marmaduke  incredulously. 

She  replied  calmly,  conclusively. 

a  Just  that  he  must  hae  gotten  a  letter  from  your  brother 
the  Master.  It  aye  angers  him  so  that  he  orders  out  the 
men  with  the  hatchets.     It's  as  well  you  should  know." 

He  stood  staring  at  her.  It  was  no  news  to  him,  of 
course,  even  though  mails  had  been  infrequent  during 
those  ten  years,  that  there  was  an  open  breach  between 
his  father  and  the  heir,  nor  was  he  unaware  of  his  father's 
savage  temper;  that,  and  the  impossibility  of  getting  a 
decent  allowance  to  enable  him  to  live  in  England  being 
responsible  for  those  same  ten  years  of  foreign  service. 
But  distance  softens  shadows ;  besides,  the  very  idea  that 
a  man  could  go  and  cut  down  historical  trees  just  to 
spite  another  man  was  foreign  to  Marmaduke's  nature. 

"  Oh,  curse  the  whole  lot !"  he  broke  out  at  last.  "  Upon 
my  soul  I'll  go  back  to  the  East — it  isn't  half  a  bad  place 
— or  wouldn't  be  if  one  only  had  a  little  tin — besides,  I 
must  get  the  money  for  my  majority." 

His  words,  following  his  impulsive  thoughts,  made 
Marrion  smile  indulgently. 

"  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  you,  Mr. — I  mean  Captain  Duke," 
she  remarked,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  Mayhap,  my 
lord  will  bury  the  hatchet  now  you're  home,  if  ye  don't 
anger  him."  She  looked  pretty  with  that  half-mischievous 
smile,  and  the  sight  cheered  Marmaduke  instantly. 


10  MARMADUKE 

"  What  a  wise  lassie  you  always  were,  Marmie,"  he  said, 
with  wilful  charm,  "and  what  a  lot  of  scrapes  you've 
gotten  me  out  of,  and  what  a  lot  you'd  get  me  out  of,  if 
you  were  only  bound  up  with  me  like  the  Shorter  Cate- 
chism was  by  mistake  with  Tristram  Shandy — d'you 
remember?  Good  lord,  I've  forgotten  my  duty  to  my 
neighbour  !  However,  here  goes,  and  I'll  do  my  best  not 
to  anger  the  baron  !  You  see,  I  must  get  the  money  for 
my  majority,"  he  added,  half  to  himself,  as  he  spun  round 
on  his  heel  rather  dramatically. 

In  fact,  there  was  no  denying  it,  the  Honourable 
Marmaduke  Muir  was  a  trifle  flamboyant  as  he  swag- 
gered across  the  courtyard  which  led  from  the  old  keep  of 
Drummuir  Castle  to  the  southern  and  modern  portion  of 
the  building.  Marrion  Paul  watched  the  figure  with  a  cer- 
tain distaste.  Perhaps,  she  thought,  it  was  only  the  ultra- 
fashionable  dress,  the  all  too  palpable  fit-out  of  a  smart 
military  tailor,  eager  for  a  bill,  that  clashed  with  the  grim 
old  walls.  Inside  he  had  seemed  much  the  same  as  she 
remembered  him.  Kindly,  affectionate,  not  over  wise, 
but  charming,  absolutely  charming.  And,  after  all,  who 
was  she  to  judge  a  gentleman  born  ?  That  question  was 
a  hard  one  to  answer.  Her  mother  had  undoubtedly 
been  Maggie  Sim,  old  Sim's  daughter,  who  had  been  maid 
to  the  first  Lady  Drummuir.  But  her  father  had  been 
Paul,  the  foreign  valet,  whom  Lord  Drummuir's  younger 
brother  had  brought  over  with  him  when  he  was  invalided 
from  the  diplomatic  service.  A  very  decent,  respectable 
sort  of  chap,  as  old  Sim  admitted  even  while  he  objected 
strongly  to  his  daughter's  marriage.  Not  without  rea- 
son it  turned  out,  since  Paul,  after  tending  his  sick  master 
with  unremitting  care  and  resource  until  his  death,  dis- 


MARMADUKE  11 

appeared  the  day  of  the  funeral,  leaving  his  young  wife 
expecting  her  first  child.  And  he  had  never  been 
heard  of  since.  That  Mrs.  Paul  should  pine  away  and 
die  early  was,  the  folk  about  said,  only  to  be  expected,  for 
Paul,  despite  his  foreign  birth,  had  been  a  man  to  be 
regretted — a  man  who  had  a  way  with  him  which  his 
daughter  had  inherited.  She,  however,  would  never  hear 
a  word  in  his  favour,  and  nothing  made  her  more  angry 
than  to  find  in  herself  little  traits  of  character  unaccount- 
able to  her  sturdy  Scots  upbringing. 

So  she  told  herself  that  she  was  no  judge  of  what  a 
gentleman's  dress  or  deportment  should  be,  and  turned 
at  the  sound  of  a  footstep  coming  through  the  archway  of 
the  keep  behind  her  to  greet  the  newcomer  with  a  more 
effusive  welcome  than  she  would  otherwise  have  given  the 
young  man  who  came  towards  her  carrying  a  valise  on 
his  shoulder.  He  set  down  his  burden  and  grasped  her 
outstretched  hand  in  a  sort  of  transport. 

"Ah,  Marrion — Marrion,  my  lass!"  he  cried.  "God, 
but  it's  gude  to  see  you  once  mair  !" 

The  words  summed  him  up  from  the  crown  of  his  head 
to  the  tips  of  his  toes.  You  might  have  spent  long  hours 
in  analysing  Andrew  Fraser's  mind  and  body  at  that 
particular  moment,  and  you  would  have  got  no  nearer  the 
mark,  since  for  the  time  being  existence  was  sheer  glad- 
ness because  of  the  sight  of  a  woman. 

"  And  I've  brocht  him  safe  home  as  ye  bade  me  when 
I  joined.  Ye'll  have  seen  him  yerself.  He's  fine,  isn't 
he?" 

There  was  a  world  of  pride  in  his  tone ;  the  pride  of  the 
soldier-servant  who  is  responsible  for  the  smartness  of  his 
master's  outturn. 


12  MARMADUKE 

"  Aye  !"  assented  Marrion,  grimly  recognising  that  the 
figure  before  her  was  more  to  her  mind  in  some  ways  than 
the  other  which  had  gone  swaggering  through  the  quad- 
rangle. This  one  was  broader  in  the  chest,  simpler  in  its 
ugly  angular  face  and  small  pathetic-looking  blue  eyes, 
and  simple — oh,  so  irritatingly  simple  ! — in  the  devotion 
writ  large  in  its  every  look,  its  every  intonation. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you're  both  home  safe,"  she  said, 
putting  the  barrier  of  refined  speech  between  them.  Then 
a  resentment,  of  which  she  was  innately  ashamed  even 
while  she  yielded  to  it,  made  her  add  :  "  And  I  suppose 
you've  brought  home  a  wife  on  the  strength  of  the  regi- 
ment ?" 

Andrew  Fraser  stared  for  a  second,  then  shouldered 
his  valise  again  deftly — 

"Ye  ken  fine,  Marrion  Paul,"  he  said  sternly,  as  he 
went  on,  "that  there  never  was  but  ae  woman  in  the 
wurrld  for  me,  an*  never  will  be." 

And  so  he  left  her  feeling  small  and  mean. 

She  watched  him  across  the  courtyard  following  on  his 
master's  steps.  A  fine  figure  of  a  man.  No  swagger 
there,  nothing  to  clash  with  the  grey  old  walls. 

But  that  made  no  difference,  no  difference  at  all.  That 
was  the  worst  of  it. 


CHAPTER  II 

MARMADUKE  MuiR  had  meanwhile  found  his  familiar 
way  through  the  low  arch  which,  piercing  the  extreme 
corner  of  the  eastern  side  of  the  quadrangle,  formed  the 
connecting  link  between  the  older  part  of  Drummuir 
Castle  and  the  new.  For  the  rest,  this  eastern  wall 
showed  blank  save  for  a  loophole  or  two.  It  was,  in 
effect,  simply  the  back  wall  of  what  in  Scotland  is  called 
the  square ;  that  is,  the  continuation  of  stables,  cow-houses 
and  woodsheds  which  appertain  to  a  country  mansion  in 
the  north.  It  had  evidently  been  built  as  a  wind-screen 
to  the  western  wing,  which,  overlooking  the  river,  had 
been  the  residential  portion  of  the  house  before  the 
southern  wing  had  been  added  to  close  in  the  quadrangle. 
Altogether  it  was  a  fine  old  place,  magnificently  situated 
in  the  slight  hollow  which  dipped  between  the  high  old 
red  sandstone  cliffs  of  the  Aberdeenshire  coast,  and  the 
lower  yet  still  high  old  red  sandstone  cliffs  which  for  a 
mile  or  two  formed  the  eastward  bank  of  the  river  Drum. 
Standing  still  on  the  grass-plot  in  the  centre  of  the  court- 
yard a  quick  ear  could  detect  two  water  sounds — the 
rhythmic  roll  of  the  waves  of  the  North  Sea  on  the  one 
hand,  and  the  incessant  rush  of  the  running  river  on  the 
other. 

Marmaduke  did  not  pause  to  listen.  He  only  felt  a 
thrill  of  pride  in  the  beauty  of  the  stern  old  place  before 
he  passed  through  the  arch  into  totally  different  sur- 

13 


14  MARMADUKE 

roundings.  Here  were  wide  well-kept  lawns,  beds  of 
rhododendrons,  then  somewhat  of  a  novelty,  and  in  those 
northern  climes  ablaze  with  blossom  this  middle  June. 
Further  afield  lay  a  typical  East  Aberdeenshire  land- 
scape of  rolling  arable  land  set  with  square  plantations 
of  wood  and  dotted  at  sparse  intervals  with  solid  grey 
granite  farm-houses.  Behind  him,  despite  its  wide  portico 
and  Grecian  balustrade,  the  new  wing  of  the  old  castle 
looked  stern  and  stubborn  as  the  rest. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  curving  flight  of  mas- 
sive steps  and  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction ;  for 
right  in  front  of  him  stretched  something  that  once  seen 
could  never  be  forgotten.  People  came  from  far  for  a 
sight  of  the  great  beech  avenue  of  Drummuir.  And  what 
they  went  out  for  to  see  was  worth  the  seeing. 

A  cathedral  aisle,  not  made  by  hand,  solemn,  serene. 
Soft  sunlight  filtering  through  a  vaulted  roof  of  leaves, 
wide  spandrils  of  brown  branches  sweeping  to  wide  arch 
from  the  pillars  of  the  mighty  tree  trunks — a  tessellated 
pavement  of  shade  and  shine. 

He  had  seen  the  sight  a  thousand  times,  yet  it  brought 
now,  as  it  had  always  brought,  a  vague  wonder  as  to  the 
long  years  since  those  giant  beeches  had  sent  their  first 
feeler  into  Mother  Earth's  bosom.  But,  as  ever,  after  the 
manner  of  such  idle  human  wonders  when  confronted 
with  the  permanence  of  what  men  class  as  lower  life,  it 
passed,  contentedly  unsatisfied,  to  a  flood  of  remem- 
brance. How  frightened  he  had  been  as  a  little  chap 
when  his  nurse  had  dragged  him  home  to  bed — dark, 
lonely  bed ! — through  those  solemn  shadows  in  the 
gloaming.  He  had  changed,  but  the  avenue  had  not.  It 
was    just    the   same.     No,   hardly !     There   was    more 


MARMADUKE  15 

shafted  sunlight  in  the  distance  surely  ?  And  that  rasp- 
ing sound  in  the  air — what  was  it  ? 

Surely  a  cross-cut  saw  at  work  !  Then  Marmie  had  as 
usual  told  the  truth.  His  father  must  be  cutting  down 
one  of  the  historic  beech  trees,  and  there  was  no  need  to 
ring  and  ask  for  Lord  Drummuir — no  need  at  all !  He 
was  to  be  found  as  usual  ungovernable,  insensate,  in- 
tolerant. A  whole  youth  of  rebellion  stormed  through 
Marmaduke  Muir's  mind  as,  at  quick  march,  he  fumed 
down  to  where  the  shameful  deed  was  being  done. 

From  far  he  could  see  it  was  in  full  swing.  The  team 
of  horses  ready  to  give  the  final  pull,  the  stays  to  other 
trees,  the  whole  paraphernalia  of  destruction  including 
the  cluster  of  workmen  busy  round  the  doomed  tree. 
And  see !  Safe  to  windward — aye,  you  bet,  safe,  jolly 
safe ! — the  knot  of  spectators  gathered  round  a  bath- 
chair.  That  held  his  father,  of  course.  And  the  others  ? 
They  would  not  be  the  old  sycophants  possibly,  but  they 
would  be  of  the  same  kidney.  A  woman,  too  !  Not  his 
half-sisters — they,  poor  souls,  would  be  weeping  in  the 
dower  house  over  the  injury  to  their  brother  the  heir  and 
to  the  heirloom  beech  !  And  it  would  not  be  Penelope — 
she  had  been  handed  over  to  Davie  Sim.  By  Jupiter,  it 
was  too  bad  !  He  quickened  his  pace,  fretted  by  the  rush 
of  bitter  resentment ;  then  paused  suddenly — 

Hist !  The  melodious  whistle  of  a  blackbird  overhead 
ceased,  and  a  little  rustling  sound  asserted  itself  above 
the  constant  burring  of  the  saw.  The  squirrels  were 
leaping  from  branch  to  branch. 

"  Look  to  yersels — look  to  yersels  !  She's  yieldin' ! 
Stan'  clear  for  your  hfe.     Stan'  clear  !     She  yieldin' !" 

The  cry  rose  none  too  soon.     There  was  an  instant's 


16  MARMADUKE 

hurry,  then  an  instant's  intense  silence,  on  which  came  a 
sharp  crack  like  a  pistol-shot,  as  the  tine  old  tree,  less 
tough  than  men  had  reckoned  it,  tilted  slowly  as  if  un- 
certain which  way  to  seek  its  grave.  So  while  men  held 
their  breath  it  stood  arrested,  defiant;  then  with  a  roar 
and  a  rush,  a  swish  of  sweeping  branches,  a  surging  of 
green  leaves,  it  sank  like  the  tumultuous  onrush  of  some 
mighty  wave,  to  fall  a  confused  tumbling  heap  of  shade 
and  shine  upon  the  kindly  earth  exactly  where  the  wit 
of  man  had  destined  it  to  lie. 

A  noisy  clapping  of  hands  and  a  high-pitched  feminine 
laugh  rose  from  about  the  bath-chair;  but,  ere  the  ap- 
plause ceased,  a  young  accusing  figure  positively  flaming 
with  wrath  had  sprung  forward,  leaped  upon  the  sawn 
root  of  the  fallen  tree,  and  so  framed  as  with  a  halo  by 
the  new-cut  bole — which  measured  over  seven  feet  in 
diameter — bawled  out  in  a  voice  quivering  with  sheer 
passion : 

"  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  sir !  Go  home 
to  bed,  you  miserable  old  gouty  cripple;  you've  done 
enough  mischief  for  one  day  !" 

Marmaduke  was  given  to  being  dramatic,  but  he  had' 
never  been  more  effective  than  at  that  moment.  He  stood 
his  ground  like  a  young  avenging  angel,  secretly  elated 
at  having  done  the  business  thoroughly  well  and  defied 
his  father,  despite  Marrion  Paul's  advice.  He  almost 
smiled  at  the  thought  of  her  dismay.  Meanwhile,  the 
face  of  the  old  man  in  the  bath-chair  had  grown  positively 
purple  with  anger,  and  the  colour  did  not  improve  the 
heavy  contours  of  chin,  double  chin,  treble  chin,  which 
melted  over  the  high  white  stock.  Yet,  barring  this 
exuberant  fleshiness,  the  face  was  not  a  bad  face.     It  had 


MARMADUKE  17 

indeed  its  measure  of  good  looks,  being  not  unlike  Mar- 
maduke's  own.  The  bald  head,  if  a  trifle  small,  was  well 
shaped,  the  blue  eyes  clear,  if  a  trifle  cold,  and  the  lips, 
cruel  enough  in  their  heavy  curves,  had  evidently  done  a 
deal  of  laughing  in  their  day  to  judge  by  the  lines  about 
them.  Altogether  a  strong,  sensible  face;  but  arrogant, 
intolerant  to  a  degree,  especially  now  when  its  owner  was 
listening  to  the  defiance  of  his  son — a  son  dependent  on 
him  for  every  farthing  beyond  his  miserable  pay  as  a 

captain  in  His  Majesty's  forces — a  son  who 

For  a  moment  Baron  Drummuir  looked  as  if  he  must 
have  a  fit ;  then  he  laughed — a  great  rude,  rough  guffaw. 
"  Ton  my  soul,"  he  chuckled,  "  it's  as  good  as  a  play  ! 
So  it's  you,  is  it,  you  young  fool  ?  How  the  deuce  did 
you  get  here  at  this  time  of  day  ?  We  didn't  expect  you 
for  another  two  hours,  so  I  decided  business  first " — he 
waved  carelessly  to  the  fallen  tree — "  and  pleasure — 
that's  you,  jackanapes — afterwards.  Eh,  what !  Hey  !" 
This  calm  reception  of  his  insults  completely  took  the 
starch  out  of  them  and  poor  Marmaduke,  who,  standing 
on  his  pedestal,  could  think  of  nothing  further  to  say 
save  to  mumble  something  about  the  short  cut  by  the  old 
ferry  road. 

The  baron,  as  he  loved  to  be  called,  chuckled  again. 
"  Good  boy — anxious  as  all  that  to  see  his  poor  old 
dad.  And  came  in  the  nick  of  time  to  see  me  kill  my 
fatted  calf" — he  waved  to  the  fallen  tree  again.  "I've 
killed  it  nicely,  haven't  I  ?  And  " — here  a  flicker  of  pure 
hatred  passed  across  the  fleshy  face — "  the  devil  take  the 
man  who  made  me  do  it !" 

His  father's  expression  re-aroused  Marmaduke's  anger. 
"  You  curse  yourself  by  saying  that,  sir,"  he  burst  out ; 

2 


18  MARMADUKE 

"  for  God  knows  you  always  do  what  you  want — nobody 
makes  you." 

Once  again  the  old  man  took  the  starch  out  of  the 
young  one. 

"Smart!"  he  said  coolly.  "Demned  smart,  my  dear 
boy  !  I  wonder  you  don't  get  on  better  in  life  than  you 
do,  judging  by  your  constant  but  fruitless  appeals  to  my 
cash-box.  But  get  down  off  your  high  horse,  there's  a 
good  lad — you  look  like  some  damned  play-acting  fool 
up  there — and  give  your  old  dad  a  paw;  the  left  one, 
young  ass,  the  left !  Can't  you  see  my  right  is  all  ban- 
daged up  with  the  most  infernal  fit  of  my  old  enemy  I've 
had  since  last  Christmas?  All  that  Perigord-pie  old 
Hare  sent  me.  I'll  baste  his  fat  liver  for  him  when  he 
comes  to-morrow.  Lordy  lord  !  Puts  me  in  mind,  Mar- 
maduke,  of  the  old  days  when  your  mother — she  was  the 
best  of  the  three — used  to  say  to  you,  a  little  lad,  '  The 
right  hand,  my  dearie.  The  right  hand,  my  lovie.'  And 
you  never  could  remember.  You  were  a  bit  of  a  dullard, 
but  fine  and  strong  and  handsome.  Not  like  that  cursed 
skunk,  Master  Pitt — but  there,  don't  let's  mar  the  har- 
mony of  the  occasion,  eh,  Jack  ?"  He  turned  to  a  small 
man  with  somewhat  of  a  weasel  face  who  stood  beside 
him  listening  devoutly,  as  were  all  the  group.  "You 
remember  Jack  Jardine,  don't  you,  Duke  ?" 

"  Slightly,"  smiled  the  young  man,  grasping  the  other's 
hand  and  shaking  it  violently.  "  One  of  the  few  pleasant 
reminiscences,  sir,  I  have  of  Drummuir  Castle."  He 
echoed  his  father's  reckless  disregard  of  other  folks' 
feelings  with  superb  indifference  and  gave  back  the  old 
man's  critical  look  coolly. 
The  latter  laughed. 


MARMADUKE  19 

"  Just  what  I  was  at  his  age — eh,  what  ?  Lordy  lord, 
Jack,  how  we  smashed  all  the  lamp-posts  in  Dodston  and 
told  the  provost  to  send  the  policeman  with  the  bill ! 
Ha,  ha !  and  old  cat  Carnegie  sitting  in  the  hearse  with 
her  skirts  up  to  her  knees  going  to  the  Hunt  ball  when 
we'd  commandeered  every  other  conveyance  in  the  town. 
Ha,  ha !  how  the  pretty  little  lassies  showed  their  san- 
dalled ankles,  bless  'em,  trying  to  keep  their  dresses  clear 
of  coffins.  But  I  am  forgetting.  Sandalled  ankles 
reminds  me — eh,  Fantine  ?  Come  here,  my  dear.  I  must 
present  you  to  my  second  son,  Captain — he  wants  to  be 
a  major,  I'm  told — Marmaduke  Muir.  Marmaduke, 
make  your  due  respects  to  Mdlle.  Fantine  Le  Grand,  your 
future  stepmother !" 

The  dainty  little  figure,  which  till  then  had  been  stand- 
ing with  one  tiny,  much-beringed  hand  resting  on  the 
back  of  the  bath-chair,  its  inquisitive,  almost  colourless 
grey  eyes  taking  in  the  minutest  detail  of  the  scene,  took 
a  step  forward  and  prepared  to  make  a  full-flounced 
curtsey.  But  Marmaduke  was  too  quick,  too  prompt  in 
his  perceptions.  He  grasped  the  situation  and  the  little 
lady  in  a  second.  The  general  pinkness  of  complexion 
and  furbelows,  the  jimpness  of  the  long  trim  waist,  the 
uncompromising  bands  of  black  velvet,  the  showers  of 
fair  ringlets.  His  hat  was  off  with  a  flourish,  he  also 
took  a  step  forward  to  meet  the  curtsey,  but,  bending 
with  a  "  grand  air  "  that  did  him  infinite  credit,  gave  the 
powdered  face  a  resounding  kiss. 

The  recipient  let  loose  a  decorous  shriek  outwardly; 
within  it  was  easy  to  see  amused  acquiescence.  Once 
again  old  Lord  Drummuir  looked  as  though  he  would 
have  a  fit. 


20  MARMADUKE 

"  You  dashed  young  scoundrel,"  he  spluttered. 
Marmaduke  held  his  head  very  high. 
"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  he  said,  "  if  I've  done  wrong ;   but 
you  said  she — I  beg  pardon, Mdlle.  Fantine  Le  Grand" — 
his  eyes  flashed  into  hers  boldly  and  met  a  smile — "was 

to  be  my  stepmamma,  so  I  thought " 

"Oh,  the  devil  take  your  thoughts,"  growled  his 
father,  but  his  lips  twitched  suspiciously.  Then  suddenly 
he  burst  out  once  again  into  one  of  his  rude,  rough 
guffaws.  "Regular  chip  of  the  old  block,  hey,  Jack? 
Well,  Fan,  I  dare  say  you  don't  mind.  Haven't  too  long, 
you  know,  of  such  gay  young  sparks,  for  as  soon  as  I'm 
about  again  he  shall  dance  at  your  wedding.  Now,  for 
heaven's  sake,  don't  let's  stop  chattering  here !  I've  got 
to  see  my  daughters  and  I  want  to  talk  to  my  son.  No, 
no,  you  jackanapes,  keep  away  just  now !  My  gout's 
cursed,  the  road  is  cursed,  and  my  temper  will  be  cursed 
too;  so  I  should  likely  disinherit  you  before  we  got  on 
to  the  lawn.  Fan  shall  stop  by  me.  I  won't  have  you 
gallivanting  with  my  son,  d'ye  hear  ?  He's  a  good- 
looking  chap,  confound  him,  but  you've  got  to  pay  for 
the  title,  my  lady !  Have  a  care,  blockhead  !  Didn't 
you  see  that  stone  ?  Don't  let  it  hurt  your  pretty  little 
feet,  Fan." 

Marmaduke,  dropping  behind  with  Jack  Jardine,  gave 
a  fierce  sigh  as  he  watched  the  little  cavalcade  move  off 
amid  this  running  fire  of  curses  and  kindliness. 

"  Is  it  all  just  as  it  used  to  be,  Jack  ?"  he  asked  help- 
lessly. 

The  little  man  cleared  his  throat. 

"  A  little  worse  perhaps.  Your  father  is  a  very  remark- 
able man,  Marmaduke — a  very  remarkable  man  !" 


CHAPTER  III 

ANYONE  who  had  seen  Lord  Drummuir  ten  minutes  after 
Jack  Jardine's  remark  must  have  echoed  it,  for  a  more 
complete  volte  face  of  manner,  speech,  and  apparently 
temperament  than  that  which  overtook  the  baron  in  the 
dower  house  could  not  be  imagined.  Still  in  his  bath- 
chair,  which  Marmaduke  had  dutifully  pushed  in  through 
the  French  windows  on  to  the  green-grounded,  cabbage- 
rosed  drawing-room  carpet,  he  beamed  round  on  his 
daughters  and  their  chaperon  with  a  paternal  affection 
which  was  almost  pathetic.  The  Honourable  Miss  Muirs 
were  three  in  number  and  they  had  all  greeted  their 
younger  half-brother  with  reserved  kisses.  But  then 
everything  they  did  was  reserved.  Miss  Mary,  the  eldest, 
was  reserved  even  about  her  tendency  to  grow  stout, 
which,  all  things  considered,  was  the  strongest  interest 
in  her  life.  Miss  Elizabeth,  the  second,  a  very  elegant  look- 
ing woman,  was  equally  reserved  about  her  undoubted 
intellect,  while  Miss  Margaret,  a  great  tall,  strapping 
figure  with  all  her  father's  force  of  character  and  all  his 
soundness  of  constitution,  held  both  in  check,  except 
when  she  managed  a  lonely  walk  with  her  dogs  in  the 
woods.  Then  her  voice  would  ring  out  deep  and  true, 
and  at  the  crack  of  her  whip  every  puppy  within  miles 
would  come  in  contentedly  to  heel. 

Her  father  liked  her  the  least,  probably  because  of  the 
contrast  between  her  and  his  ricketty  male  heir,  so  in  the 

21 


22  MARMADUKE 

shabby  Victorian  drawing-room  she  generally  sat  mum- 
chance,  showing  up  badly  against  her  sisters'  exquisite 
manners.  For  no  one  knew  better  than  Lord  Drummuir 
what  a  gentlewoman  should  be,  and  therefore  he  had 
been  extremely  particular  about  his  daughters'  educa- 
tion. To  what  end,  heaven  alone  knew,  since  they  lived 
on,  year  after  year,  in  the  dower  house,  occasionally 
visiting  in  stately  fashion  the  late  minister's  wife  (though 
this  distraction  was  no  longer  theirs  owing  to  the  State 
appointment  of  a  bachelor  to  the  living),  and,  very  occa- 
sionally, seeing  some  of  their  father's  older  and  more 
respectable  friends.  In  regard  to  this,  however,  and  to 
kindred  matters  no  grand  Turk  could  have  been  more 
autocratic  than  was  Lord  Drummuir.  So  he  sat  and 
discoursed  on  Shakespeare  and  the  musical  glasses,  on 
his  delight  at  seeing  his  dearest  boy  again,  leading  the 
latter  on  to  detail  some  of  the  more  instructive  portions 
of  his  foreign  life,  until  the  full  half-hour  which  he  daily 
bestowed  on  his  daughters  was  up.  Then  with  the  utmost 
punctuality  he  took  out  his  watch,  said  he  feared  he 
must  be  off,  and  congratulated  himself  and  the  three 
young  ladies  on  a  charming  conversation. 

"  You  are  too  good,  papa,"  replied  the  young  ladies,  as 
they  deposited  a  decorous  kiss  on  his  bald  head.  So 
they  stood  and  watched  the  bath-chair  roll  along  the 
lawn  till  it  reached  the  turn  by  the  rhododendrons  which 
hid  it  from  view,  and  then  they  waved  their  handker- 
chiefs. And  the  baron  waved  his  in  return,  thereinafter 
using  it  to  mop  his  forehead  relievedly,  while  he  ejacu- 
lated, "  Thank  God,  that's  over  !" 

Whereat  Marmaduke  smiling,  the  old  man  went  on 
serenely. 


MARMADUKE  23 

"  Never  forget,  my  boy,  how  to  treat  women  of  good 
character.  The  other  comes  naturally,  but  I'm  damned 
if  I  ever  forgot  my  manners  with  a  really  good  woman. 
And  you  will  find  it  pays,  Duke,  it  pays.  So  now  have 
not  you  got  some  bit  of  spice,  or  an  on  dit  to  amuse  the 
old  man  with?  Curse  me,  but  I  lead  a  miserable  life 
here,  tied  down  by  this  infernal  complaint;  but  I  am 
paying  now  for  the  follies  and  indiscretions  of  youth. 
Confound  you,  Marmaduke,  you  might  think  of  your 
poor  old  father's  joints  and  not  rush  your  fences  in  that 
way!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  replied  Marmaduke,  meekly 
glad  of  the  turn  he  had  given  the  conversation  by  deploy- 
ing the  bath-chair  into  the  gravel  walk ;  for,  in  good  truth, 
he  had  no  great  relish  for  spicy  stories.  Not  that  he  was 
a  prig,  but  that  he  had  been  born  a  sportsman,  to  whom 
indoor  life  was  dull  and  irksome.  So  he  welcomed 
another  interruption  in  the  shape  of  a  young  man  who 
came  hastily  down  the  path  to  meet  them. 

"Why,  I  believe  it's  Peter!"  he  cried  joyously,  and 
the  next  minute  was  shaking  hands  with  his  young  half- 
brother,  the  fruit  of  Lord  Drummuir's  third  but  not  last 
marriage ;  for  his  wives  never  lived  long,  except  the  first, 
who  had  lingered  for  years,  only  giving  him  useless 
daughters.  "  Why,  Peter,  how  you've  grown  !"  remarked 
Marmaduke  unnecessarily,  seeing  he  had  been  away  ten 
years. 

"  So've  you — you're  a  giant  beside  the  rest  of  us,  except 

Meg  !    Pitt  and  I "  The  lad  pulled  himself  up  sharp. 

"  Well,  I  say,  sir,  we  must  have  a  rousin'  night  to  celebrate 
Duke's  return  !" 

Marmaduke,  looking  at  tfte  slender,  fair-haired  youth 


24  MARMADUKE 

with  a  weak  mouth  and  an  excited  manner,  thought  he 
had  probably  roused  too  much.  Instinctively,  therefore, 
since  he  had  often  been  drunk  himself — it  was  the  fashion 
of  the  time — he  changed  the  subject  again  to  one  that 
had  come  uppermost  in  the  old  familiar  surroundings. 

"  I  say,  how  about  the  grouse  ?  Is  it  to  be  a  good 
year  ?" 

His  eyes  as  he  spoke  almost  yearned  over  a  swelling 
purpled  horizon  curve  which  told  where  the  best  moors 
in  that  part  of  Aberdeenshire  were  to  be  found. 

Five  minutes  after  the  old  lord,  still  in  his  bath-chair, 
was  discoursing  in  the  most  animated  and  amiable 
fashion  about  sport  past  and  present  and  to  come,  while 
his  two  sons,  one  of  them  sprawling  on  the  lawn,  joined 
in  amicably. 

So  amicably  that  Mdlle.  Fantine  Le  Grand,  watching 
them  from  her  boudoir  windows,  turned  to  a  man 
who  was  lounging  in  a  chair  reading  the  papers,  and 
said — 

"  This  sort  of  thing  won't  do,  Compton.  That  young 
man  is  too  charming  " 

The  man  to  whom  she  spoke  did  not  look  up.  He 
went  on  reading,  as  he  said — 

*  You  don't  often  find  them  too  charming,  Fan  !" 
u  Don't  be  a  fool,  Tom,"  she  replied  curtly,  coming 
to  sit  beside  him.  "  You  know  quite  well  what  I  mean. 
Young  men  of  that  sort  always  are  in  debt;  besides,  I've 
heard  the  old  man  say  something  about  money  for  a 
majority.  Now  the  estate's  entailed,  so  payments  of 
that  sort  must  come  out  of  what  I  mean  to  be  mine — 
and  I  won't  have  it !" 

<f  vSound   common  sense.  Fan,"  said  her  companion, 


MARMADUKE  25 

yawning;  "but  you  are  always  in  such  a  hurry  to  begin. 
Wait  a  few  days  and  see  how  the  land  lies  first.  You've 
always  the  best  of  weapons  in  your  hand." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Jealousy.  The  old  man  is  as  jealous  as  old  boots. 
Once  make  him  fancy  young  Marmaduke  is  sweet  on 
you,  and  he  goes  to  the  right-about." 

Fantine  sat  back  and  laughed. 

"  You  are  always  so  comforting,  Tom." 

He  rose  and  put  down  his  paper. 

"  Always  ready  to  help,  my  dear ;  but  you  remember 
our  compact — half  shares  when  the  old  man  dies." 

"  Hell  be  good  for  another  ten  years  if  I  marry  him," 
she  called  after  her  late  companion,  as  he  strolled  out  of 
the  room. 

Then  she  sat  down  and  faced  facts.  In  truth  she  was 
getting  tired  of  her  role  of  premiere  danseuse  at  a  London 
theatre.  Perhaps,  she  even  admitted,  she  was  a  trifle 
too  old  for  the  agile  cutting  of  capers.  She  felt  vaguely 
that  she  would  like  to  draw  in  her  horns  and  let  her 
waist  out,  and  she  was  quite  ready  to  take  Lord  Drum- 
muir  as  a  means  of  satisfying  both  ambitions.  In  her 
way  she  was  neither  bad  nor  unkind,  simply  egotistic  to 
a  degree.  In  this  last  episode  of  an  eventful  career  which 
seldom  outlasts  the  age  of  forty,  she  had  deliberately 
played  for  semi-respectability,  and  had  only  come  down 
to  stay  at  Drummuir  Castle  under  the  wing  of  an  im- 
peccable duenna.  Not  that  the  fact  had  in  the  least 
imposed  on  the  old  lord.  He  was  shrewd  enough  to  know 
Miss  Fanny  Biggs,  or,  as  she  chose  to  style  herself,  Mdlle. 
Fantine  Le  Grand,  down  to  the  ground.  But  it  was 
something  to  have  someone  to  dance  for  him  (as  she  did 


26  MARMADUKE 

to  distraction),  when  he  had  a  fit  of  the  gout  and  look 
quite  deucedly  pretty  at  all  times.  So  the  bargain  was 
made.  A  title  in  exchange  for  amusements.  But  Fan- 
tine  Le  Grand  looked  beyond  the  old  man's  life;  she 
looked  for  comfortable  widowhood.  So  she  wandered 
again  to  the  window  and  watched  the  family  trio  on  the 
lawn.  It  was  far  too  filial  for  her  tastes.  Tom  Comp- 
ton,  so-called  Colonel  of  Irregulars,  one  of  her  oldest 
friends,  had  been  right.  Jealousy  would  be  a  good  card 
to  play.  And  then  she  laughed  suddenly  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  Marmaduke's  filial  salute.  He  was  better-looking 
than  his  father  must  have  been  at  his  age,  but,  according 
to  the  latter,  he  was  "a  chip  of  the  old  block."  So  he 
would  be  easy  prey. 

Meanwhile,  Colonel  Compton  having  joined  the  group 
on  the  lawn,  the  conversation  had  drifted  round  to 
politics,  and  the  old  lord,  being  an  ardent  Whig,  had 
waxed  fast  and  furious  on  the  enormities  of  the  Tories. 
A  perfectly  innocent  subject,  but  one  which  did  not 
interest  Marmaduke,  who  thereupon  drifted  away  to  find 
Jack  Jardine,  from  whom  he  hoped  to  hear  the  truth  as 
to  his  father's  present  relations  with  the  heir,  the  Master, 
and  also — though  this  interested  him  less,  since  it  was 
to  a  certain  degree  patent — with  Mdlle.  Le  Grand.  So, 
as  they  sat  smoking  Fubaurg's  tobacco  out  of  long  clay 
pipes  after  the  fashion  of  the  times,  they  discussed  the 
situation. 

"  You  ask  how  the  breach  has  widened,"  said  Jack 
Jardine.  "  Well,  I  don't  think  it  has  done  so  abnormally. 
It  has  been  going  on  ever  since  poor  Pitt  turned  out  such 
a  weakling.  You  know  the  family  history.  After  he 
married  Lady  Helen,  whom  he  shouldn't  have  married 


MARMADUKE  27 

because  she  too,  poor  soul,  was,  as  it  were,  doomed  to 
disease,  though  she  was  a  duke's  daughter  and  so  satis- 
fied his  lordship's  pride — a  miserable  story,  Duke,  a 
miserable  story.  Well,  there  was  one  disappointment 
about  an  heir  after  another,  as  you  know,  Duke,  and  it  hit 
home  into  the  peer — for  he  is  no  fool.  Put  it  briefly, 
though  he  is  quite  ready  to  tell  you  he  is  suffering  from 
the  indiscretions  of  youth  while  he  is  in  torments  with 
the  gout,  and  at  the  same  time  supping  every  night  on 
broiled  foxes'  tongues  and  mulled  claret,  he  can't  bear  to 
see  the  results  in  Pitt.  He  hates  him  because  he  hasn't 
the  physique  to  carry  on  the  name.  He  is  a  very  remark- 
able man,  Duke,  is  your  father." 

"  Very,"  assented  the  young  man  grimly.  "  I  wish 
the  devil  he  wasn't." 

"  That's  why  I,  and  all  the  rest  of  us  who  have  Drum- 
muir  interests  at  heart,  are  so  glad  you've  come  home. 
You're  presumptive  heir  now,  and  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses you're  '  apparent.'  And  you're  straight  and  strong, 
thanks  to  your  poor  mother.  So  we  look  to  you  to  keep 
up  the  honour  of  the  name.  I  believe  if  you  play  your 
cards  well,  you  might  easily  oust  Miss  Fanny  Biggs,  or 
Mdlle.  Fantine " 

Marmaduke  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said ;  "  that  is  most  succinct !  I 
needn't  ask  any  more.  But  does  the  old  man  really  mean 
to  marry  her  ?" 

Jack  Jardine  nodded. 

"Would  have  done  it  three  months  ago  but  for  the 
gout.  And  she  isn't  really  so  bad,  but  devilish  sly; 
and  that  man  Compton,  whom  the  peer  has  taken  up  with 
over  the  railway  business,  is  in  with  her."     He  gave  a 


28  MARMADUKE 

sigh  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "  I've  my 
work  cut  out  for  me,  Duke,  I  can  tell  you." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then  Marmaduke  said 
curiously — 

"  I've  often  wondered,  Jack,  why  you,  who  by  your 
brains  could  have  made  your  own  way,  have  been  con- 
tented to  stick  on  in  this  cursed  old  place  among  us 
cursed  people,  letting  us  youngsters  call  you  Jack  and 
borrow  money  from  you.  By  the  way,  I  shouldn't  have 
been  able  to  come  home  if  you  hadn't  sent  me  that  last 
hundred  pounds." 

Jack  Jardine  said  nothing;  then  he  walked  to  the 
window. 

"You  may  as  well  know,  Duke,  it  may  help  you  to 
steer  your  way.  It  is  because  I,  a  poor  lawyer,  loved 
your  mother — not  before,  but  after  she  became  Lady 
Drummuir  !  Of  course  she  never  guessed ;  but  I  helped 
her  to  try  and  keep  your  father  straight.  She  led  an 
awful  life " 

"You  needn't  tell  me  that!"  broke  in  Marmaduke, 
fiercely. 

"  Yet  your  father  didn't  mean  ill  to  her.  Anyhow, 
I  tried  to  help  her,  and  so  I  suppose  it  became  a  habit. 
Love  is  a  queer  thing,  Duke  !" 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  said  Marmaduke,  magisterially,  "  but 
it  has  not  come  my  way  yet,"  and  he  added  joyously, 
"  I  hope  it  won't  for  some  years  to  come,  for  I  like  enjoy- 
ing myself." 

Apparently  he  did ;  for  as  the  summer  evening  began 
to  close  in  on  Drummuir  Castle  and  the  menkind,  with 
only  Mdlle.  Fantine  and  her  duenna  to  represent  the 
opposite  sex,  gathered  in  the  huge  dining-room  to  attack 


MARMADUKE  29 

a  heavy  dinner  which  would  have  sufficed  for  a  regiment, 
he  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party,  and  ate  through 
the  menu  with  a  relish  which  aroused  regret  and  admira- 
tion in  the  old  lord. 

"  Dash  it  all,"  he  bawled,  "  why  can't  I  eat  soup,  fish, 
top  and  bottom  and  four  sides  through  five  courses  like 
that  dashed  youngster  of  mine,  who  puts  it  on  to  his 
shoulders  instead  of  his  waist  like  I  do  ?" 

And  when  the  claret  began  to  circle  round  faster  and 
faster  Marmaduke  never  let  it  pass;  so  that  when,  with 
sweet  decorum,  Mdlle.  Fantine  and  her  duenna  prepared 
to  withdraw,  he  nearly  killed  the  Skye  terrier  in  his 
flamboyant  haste  to  open  the  door.  Nay,  more !  He 
followed  them  into  the  corridor  for  an  instant.  What 
passed  there  none  saw,  but  he  returned  to  his  seat  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  throbbing  veins,  feeling  vaguely  that 
the  battle  of  wits  had  begun. 

Of  what  followed  his  memory  was  confused.  He 
remembered  that  outside  the  windows  the  summer 
twilight  was  still  flooding  the  green  lawns,  while 
humanity  inside,  after  guzzling  itself  stupid  with  rich 
food,  was  trying  to  grow  witty  over  the  boozing  of  mulled 
claret  and  whisky-toddy.  They  began,  of  course,  with 
the  young  queen's  health,  and  went  on  methodically  till 
they  came  to  the  good  old  Scotch  toast :  "  Here's  to 
oorsels.  Wha'  better?  Damn  few  !"  After  this,  which 
seemed  to  afford  general  satisfaction,  they  proceeded  to 
particularise,  and  Marmaduke  had  a  dim  recollection 
of  someone  proposing  "The  future  Commander-in- 
Chief,  coupled  with  the  name  of  Captain  Marmaduke 
Muir" 

But  whether  he  replied,  or  whether  the  effort  to  rise 


30  MARMADUKE 

and  do  so  was  too  much  for  him  and  he  rolled  under  the 
table,  he  could  not  say. 

Certain  it  is  that  on  that  first  night  of  his  return  to 
the  home  of  his  fathers  Marmaduke  Muir  was  hopelessly 
drunk. 

Certain  also  that  he  erred  in  company,  the  only  sober 
man  being  Jack  Jardine,  who  invariably  sought  the 
shelter  of  the  table  at  an  early  period  and  lay  there  com- 
fortably, his  head  on  a  buffet,  listening  to  the  commisera- 
tions on  his  weak  head  until  he  fell  asleep,  to  wake  when 
the  carouse  was  over,  and  see  that  the  gentlemen's  gen- 
tlemen sorted  their  respective  masters  to  their  respective 
beds. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MARRION  PAUL  sat  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the  summer 
night  waiting  for  her  grandfather  to  return  from  his 
duties  at  the  Castle.  She  did  not  generally  do  so,  for 
he  was  apt  to  be  late;  but  on  this,  the  first  day  of  Cap- 
tain Duke's  return,  sleep  would  have  been  out  of  the 
question  until  she  heard  something  of  the  evening.  For 
she  did  not  mince  matters  with  herself;  those  six  years 
of  independent  life  in  Edinburgh  had  opened  her  eyes 
to  the  world,  and  the  first  sight  of  Marmaduke  Muir  had 
told  her  that  the  long  ten  years  had  not  changed  her  at 
all;  that  he  was  as  much  the  sun  in  her  heaven  as  he  had 
been  in  the  old  childish  days.  The  sun  in  her  heaven, 
and  something  more  superadded  to  those  olden  times. 

Then  the  day  had  been  disturbing.  Everyone  had 
come  to  her  praising  the  Captain's  looks  and  ways  and 
general  charm;  to  all  of  which  she  had  replied  coolly, 
feeling  the  while  in  a  perfect  quiver  of  gladness.  Miss 
Margaret  had  been  the  hardest  to  damp  when  she  had 
appeared  in  the  afternoon  with  the  sporting  dogs  and  a 
stout  crop  in  her  hand  on  her  way  to  take  them  a  scramble 
over  the  rocks  and  round  by  the  lower  bay. 

"Oh,  Marrion!"  she  cried  enthusiastically.  "Saw 
you  ever  the  like  ?  Elizabeth  says  he's  like  the  Apollo 
Belvidere!" 

"  I  am  not  knowing  the  gentleman,"  protested  Marrion 
distantly.  a  But  Captain  Duke  has  grown  to  a  fine  figure. 

3i 


32  MARMADUKE 

But  has  Miss  Muir  seen  Andrew  Fraser  ?     He's  twice  the 
man  he  was  when  he  went  away." 

It  was  a  false  move  on  Marrion's  part,  for  it  brought  on 
her  instantly  the  hearty  reply — 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Marmie ;  so  I  suppose  we  will  be 
having  you  cried  in  the  kirk  before  long.  Duke  says 
he  has  been  most  faithful." 

Whereupon  the  speaker  called  to  her  dogs  in  a  sten- 
torian   voice    worthy    her    father's,    cracked    her   whip 
scientifically,  and  strode  away  for  an  hour  or  two's  free- 
dom. For  the  atmosphere  of  the  dower  house  was  stifling, 
and  there  was  always  a  chance  of  meeting  the  Rev. 
Patrick  Bryce  on  the  sands  below  the  rocks,  where  he 
went  always  to  compose  his  sermons,  with  which  the 
reverend  gentleman  had  no  little  difficulty.     Not  because 
he  was  stupid,  but  because  he  found  it  laborious  to  recon- 
cile his  own  views  with  those  of  his  flock ;  they,  however, 
being  inclined  to  be  lenient  with  one  who  had  earned 
for  himself  the  nickname  of  "  the  bonny  parson,"  and  who 
was  known  to  be  the  best  shot  and  fisherman  in  the 
district.     For  this  reason  he  would  have  been  welcome 
at  the  Castle,  but  for  his  unswerving  outspoken  protest 
against  its  general  behaviour. 

Marrion,  meanwhile,  finding  more  peace  as  the  day 
died  down,  took  to  wandering  at  the  far  side  of  the 
quadrangle  listening  to  the  distant  sounds  of  revelry; 
her  hands,  as  she  walked,  busy  with  her  knitting-pins — 
after  the  fashion  of  Scotchwomen  in  those  days — going 
faster  and  faster  as  her  thoughts  grew  hotter  over  what 
she  knew  was  happening  at  the  other  side  of  the  blank 
wall.  Guzzling  and  boozing !  First  the  masters,  then 
the  men-servants,  while  away  in  the  back  premises  the 


MARMADUKE  33 

scullerymaids  and  kitchenmaids  were  working  hard.  It 
was  a  shame,  a  burning  shame ;  but  if  ever  she  had  a  son 
she  would  see  to  it  that  he  was  different. 

But  she  never  would  have  a  son ;  anyhow,  not  Andrew 
Fraser's,  be  he  ever  so  sober,  so  upright.  That  was  the 
worst  of  it.  With  an  impatient  sigh  she  hurried  outside 
the  keep  door  to  stand  and  watch  the  last  faintly  flushed 
clouds  of  sunset  in  the  nor1 -west  fade  over  the  darkling 
stretches  of  moorland. 

It  must  be  nigh  twelve  of  the  clock,  for  eastwards,  over 
the  darkling  stretches  of  the  sea,  a  faint  lightening  of  the 
horizon,  which  held  such  a  hint  of  restlessness  even  in  its 
shadow,  told  where  the  sun  would  soon  rise  again.  For 
in  those  high  northern  latitudes  there  is  a  bare  two  hours' 
darkness  in  a  summer  night. 

Twelve  o'  the  clock,  and  after  that  would  be  their 
birthday.  Well,  good  luck  to  him  wherever  he  went! 
Some  day  he  must  be  the  laird — Baron  Drummuir. 
Nothing  to  hinder  that  must  come  into  his  life — nothing  ! 

The  faithfulness  of  inherited  service  was  in  her  blood. 
She  recognised  this  and  sometimes  wondered  if  her  own 
devotion  to  the  honour  and  welfare  of  the  House  of 
Drummuir  was  not  stronger  even  than  her  grandfather's ; 
possibly  because  her  father,  by  all  repute,  had  been  a 
faithful  servant,  too ;  such  things  are  not  to  be  escaped. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  thoughts  by  a  wavering  step 
in  the  quadrangle,  and  returned  to  meet  her  grandfather 
in  the  expansive  stage  of  intoxication. 

"  Aye,  my  lass,"  he  went  on,  when  he  had  wept  a  few 
easy  tears  over  her  goodness  in  sitting  up  for  him,  "  it  was 
just  a  gran'  nicht.  The  pipes  seemed  fey  and  I  blawed 
at  them  till  we  was  baith  like  to  burst.     An'  my  lord,  he 

3 


34  MARMADUKE 

was  for  havin'  oot  the  biggest  bottle  o'  pickled  foxes' 
tongues,  an'  he  devilled  them  himsel'  in  a  chaffin'  dish 
afore  them  all,  an'  they  a'  drunk  wi'  mirth  an'  guid  claret. 
Jock,  the  butler,  was  tellin'  me — there  was  twal  o'  them — 
that  they  were  drinkin'  thirty  bottles  o'  the  best,  forbye 
sixteen  tum'lers  of  hot  whisky -toddy,  the  Sheriff  and  the 
Lord  Provost  had,  honest  gentlemen,  to  their  lane — an' 
there  wud  be  no  '  hoot-toots '  where  the  Shirra  was  con- 
cerned !  Then  the  laird  o'  Balbuggo — he  has  a  weak 
head,  yon  man,  was  for  ridin'  hame  and  was  no  to  be 
hindered  frae  it;  sae  Captain  Duke  an'  anither  young 
spark  jest  perched  his  saddle  to  the  loupin'-on-stane  and 
pit  the  guid  man  to  it.  An*  there  he  sat  tittuping  away 
his  lane  for  an  hour  or  sae  quite  blythe,  till  they  telTt  him 
he  was  at  Balbuggo,  and  he  just  aff  an'  awa  tae  his  bed 
like  a  lammie." 

"And  Captain  Duke?"  asked  the  girl,  with  scorn  in 
her  voice,  pity  in  her  heart,  despite  the  irrepressible  smile 
in  ier  eyes.     "  Was  he  drunk,  too  ?" 
Old  Davie  winked  solemnly. 

"  Aye,  that  was  he — he  was  fair  fou — but,"  he  added 
carefully ;  "  he  took  his  cups  real  well !      Not  like  Mr. 

Peter,  that  syne  gets  tae  sickness  and " 

"  Gran'father,"  cried  the  girl  passionately,  interrupting 
him,  "  it's  gettin*  late  !  You  must  away  to  your  bed,  or 
you'll  no  be  up  the  morn  to  pipe  '  Hey !  Johnnie  Cope, 
are  ye  waukin'  yet  ?'     I'll  see  to  the  doors." 

"  No  be  up  ?"  contended  the  old  man.  "  I  tell  ye  if 
the  arkaungel  Gabbriel  was  tae  soun'  his  trump  any  day 
at  half-after  seven,  he'd  find  Davie  Sims — aye,  and  his 
forbears  an'  descendants — skirling  awa'  at  that  same 
tune  up  an'  dune  a'  the  passages  in  Drummuir  Castle 


MARMADUKE  35 

tae  wake  the  gentlefolk  !  Aye,  that  wad  he  " — here  he 
began  stumbling  up  the  stair  with  his  candle  held  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five — "  though  it's  hard  on  a  body  that's 
had  tae  pipe  to  the  deil  ower  nicht  to  think  o'  his  duty  tae 
the  sluggard." 

Here  his  maunderings  became  unintelligible,  and  the 
girl  he  left  turned  to  the  closing  of  the  house,  her  heart 
hot  as  fire  with  indignation,  chill  as  ice  with  scorn. 

What  else  was  there  to  expect  ?  Like  father,  like  son  ! 
When  she  had  drawn  the  bolts  she  went  up  to  her  own 
room  and  flung  its  little  window  wide.  The  full  moon 
shone  round  like  a  shield,  and  by  its  light  she  could  see 
the  whole  wild  coast  stretching  northwards  from  Drum- 
kirk  Point  to  Rattray  Head.  And  after  that?  The 
North  Pole,  of  course !  Dear  inaccessible  region  to  all 
but  the  strong,  the  single  of  heart,  the  men  who  could 
command  others — and  themselves. 

She  scarcely  knew  what  it  was  that  she  raged  against 
as  slowly,  methodically,  she  began  to  undress.  The  little 
brilliant  or  paste  brooch,  she  knew  not  which,  formed  of 
two  crossed  p's  which  was  the  only  relic  she  possessed 
of  her  dead  father,  arrested  her  for  a  second.  What  sort 
of  a  man  had  he  been  really,  she  wondered,  and  what  sort 
of  a  son  would  hers  be  when  she  had  one  ? 

She  flung  the  tiny  bauble  from  her  impatiently,  so 
stood  for  a  second  drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  her  bare 
arms  crossed,  her  shapely  hands  clasping  their  smooth 
roundness;  then,  with  a  sudden  sob,  she  realised  what 
had  come  to  her,  and,  throwing  herself  face  downwards 
on  her  bed,  lay  for  a  minute  or  two  still  as  the  dead. 
Then  as  suddenly  she  sat  up  again  with  a  world  of 
puzzled  wonder  in  her  strained  eyes. 


36  MARMADUKE 

"  I  canna  think,"  she  murmured,  "  what  gars'  me  love 
him  so,  but  I  do,  and  there's  an  end  o'  it." 

Possibly ;  but  such  knowledge  as  that  which  had  just 
burst  over  her  like  a  storm  does  not  make  for  quiet  sleep. 
She  told  herself  a  thousand  and  one  wise  things,  but  the 
hours  slipped  by,  bringing  at  last  a  conviction  of  hope- 
lessness. She  would  be  better  up  than  pretending  to 
rest,  so  she  went  to  stand  at  the  window  once  more. 

The  flush  of  coming  day  was  clear  now  in  the  north- 
east, the  flood-tide  of  the  full  moon  lay  mysterious  in 
the  embrace  of  the  rocks.  Ere  long  the  rising  sun  would 
send  battalions  on  battalions  of  shining  golden  ripples 
to  storm  the  estuary  and  climb  the  shadowy  cliff  on 
which  the  castle  stood — where  he  lay  drunk ! 

Ah,  well !  That  would  not  spoil  the  beauty  of  it  all, 
which  she  had  so  often  seen,  and  the  nip  of  the  salt  North 
Sea  might  check  her  silly  desire  for  him.  The  room  felt 
stifling;  she  would  be  better  outside. 

So,  slipping  on  her  swimming- dress  of  coarse  white 
flannel  blanketing  (for  ever  since  those  childish  days 
when  she  and  Duke  had  done  everything  in  common  she 
had  been  an  expert  swimmer),  she  threw  a  plaid  round 
her,  and  made  her  way  through  the  keep  gateway  to  the 
rocks  below.  There  was  no  breeze,  the  tide  must  be  at 
its  height  almost,  and  there  was  the  spent  moon,  pale 
with  its  long  night-watch,  hanging  on  the  grey  sky  of 
dawn.  Ah,  these  were  the  things  worth  having — the 
others  could  be  set  aside  with  joy  ! 

Ere  five  minutes  were  over,  breathless  from  her  fierce 
driving  strokes  through  the  water,  she  had  turned  over 
on  her  back,  and,  face  to  the  skies,  was  trying  to  imagine  • 
she  was  floating  thitherwards.     The  gulls,  wakened  by 


MARMADUKE  37 

the  coming  light,  skimmed  over  her  in  their  quest  for 
food.  The  little  pointed  wavelets  that  rose  and  fell, 
marking  the  course  of  the  river  stream,  made  a  fine,  sob- 
bing, tinkling  noise  in  her  ears. 

Full  flood-tide ! 

She  laughed  aloud  in  the  joy  of  it ;  then,  rolling  over 
again,  struck  out  for  the  opposite  shore.  Higher  up  the 
estuary  there  was  a  little  sheltered  bay  whence  she  could 
watch  the  panorama  of  dawn.  When  she  drew  herself 
out  of  the  water  on  to  a  convenient  rock  the  air  struck 
warm,  and  the  stone  beneath  her  had  scarce  lost  yester- 
sun's  heat.  It  would  be  a  perfect  day — if  anything  over 
hot,  for  a  faint  opalescence  already  lay  on  sea  and 
sky. 

As  she  sat  waiting  for  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  to  "  skim 
the  sea  with  flying  feet  of  gold,"  she  unplaited  her  russet 
hair,  which  had  become  loosened,  and,  combing  out  its 
long  length  with  her  fingers,  prepared  to  plait  it  up 
again. 

Suddenly  a  voice  startled  her. 

"  A  beauteous  mermaid,  by  Jove  !     Fair  lady " 

The  theatrical  intonation  did  not  deceive  her.  She 
slipped  like  any  seal  into  the  water,  and  so  protected 
looked  back  to  see  Marmaduke  Muir.  He  was  still  in  his 
over-night's  dress-clothes,  but  their  utter  disarray  made 
them  more  consonant  with  his  occupation,  for  he  held  a 
salmon-rod  in  his  hand,  a  creel  had  unfastened  his  ruffled 
shirt  at  the  neck,  and  he  had  evidently  torn  off  his  stiff 
stock  for  more  ease,  and  kicked  away  his  pumps  for 
firmer  foothold  on  the  rocks.  His  face  showed  no  sign 
of  last  night's  carouse,  and  Marrion,  looking  at  it,  could 
not  but  confess  thg,t  $ome   sins  leave   no   metrk  on   a 


38  MARMADUKE 

man.  Ere  she  could  utter  a  word,  his  surprise  found 
speech. 

"  Why,  Marmie  !"  Then  in  a  half-awed  tone  he  added  : 
"  What  beautiful  hair  youVe  got,  my  dear  !" 

"Aye,"  she  replied  imperturbably,  feigning  perfect 
calm,  "  it's  fine  !  Folk  is  aye  tellin'  me  o'  't.  The  hair- 
dresser in  Edinbro'  was  offering  me  a  lot  for  it." 

He  sat  down  on  the  rocks  above  where  she  lay  swaying 
with  the  long  roll  of  the  distant  waves  outside  the  bar, 
her  hands  holding  to  the  seaweed. 

"  Goth  and  Vandal !  But  you  didn't  let  him  have  it. 
Wise  Marmie,  but  then  you  always  were  wisdom  itself ! 
I  remember " 

He  was  becoming  vaguely  sentimental,  so  she  brought 
him  back  to  earth  with  a  round  turn. 

"  You'll  no  have  been  gettin'  any  fish  the  morn  ?"  she 
queried. 

"No  fish!"  he  echoed  loftily.  "What  do  you  call 
that?" 

He  pulled  out  of  his  creel  a  seven-inch  burnie  and  laid 
it  with  pomp  on  the  rocks.  Then  their  young  laughter 
echoed  out  into  the  dawn. 

"  But  I  got  a  hold  on  another,"  he  went  on,  keen  as  a 
boy.  "  A  real  good  one — as  big  as  any  I  ever  got  in  the 
castle  pool — perhaps  bigger.  You  see  they  were  talking 
of  the  fishing  yesterday  and  they  all  said  it  was  no  good. 
Not  enough  water.  So  I  didn't  intend  to  try ;  but — well, 
you  see,  my  dear,  I  got  drunk  last  night — I  did — and  I 
woke  up  about  half  an  hour  ago  with  a  beastly  headache. 
So  then  I  thought  I'd  go  out  and  see  if  the  fish  weren't 
moving,  and  as  they'd  put  me  to  bed  in  my  clothes — I 
must  have  been  horrid  drunk,  and  Andrew,  you  see,  was 


MARMADUKE  39 

away  with  his  people — I  just  took  one  of  Peter's  rods  and 
ferried  myself  over  in  the  boat.  It's  up  yonder.  I'll  take 
you  back  in  it,  if  you  like." 

The  idea  was  preposterous.  Marrion  imagined  herself 
arriving  at  the  castle,  where  the  servants  were  ever  early 
astir,  in  her  bathing  dress  with  the  Captain !  So  she 
hastily  drew  a  red  herring  across  the  trail. 

"And  was  the  fish  real  big,  Captain  Duke  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Big  !  I  tell  you  it  was  the  biggest  I,  or,  for  the  matter 
of  that,  anyone  else  ever  caught  in  the  castle  pool." 

"Fish  are  aye  big  when  they  are  in  the  water,  Fm 
thinking,"  she  cast  back  at  him,  as,  loosing  her  seaweed 
hold,  she  struck  out. 

He  sprang  up. 

"  You're  not  going  to  try  and  cross  now ! "  he  cried, 
pointing  to  where  in  mid-stream  a  wide  oily  streak  told 
that  tide  and  river  were  flowing  out  fast.  "  The  ebb  is 
at  its  strongest.     Marmie,  don't  be  a  fool ! " 

She  gave  a  quick  glance  forward,  then  looked  back  to 
smile  farewell. 

"  Aye,  it's  strong,  but  Fve  done  it  before  now.  There's 
no  fear  for  me,  Captain  Duke." 

So  saying  she  turned  her  head  upstream,  seeing  indeed 
that  she  would  have  to  be  careful  not  to  be  swept  past  her 
bearings  when  she  got  to  mid-channel ;  so  she  did  not  see 
Marmaduke  tear  off  his  creel,  his  coat,  and  waistcoat, 
and,  in  thin  ruffled  shirt  and  kersey  breeches,  launch 
himself  into  the  water.  But  his  tremendous  underwater 
strokes  soon  brought  him  up  almost  beside  her  to  shake 
his  curly  head  like  a  retriever.  She  looked  at  him  startled 
and  quickened  her  strokes,  whereupon  he  changed  to 
overhand  and  ranged  up  beside  her  without  effort. 


40  MARMADUKE 

"  Where  did  you  learn  yon  ?"  she  asked,  more  for  some- 
thing to  break  a  silence  which  made  her  heart  beat  than 
from  curiosity.     "  You  usen't  to  swim  that  way." 

"  In  the  Indies,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "  I  must  teach 
it  to  you ;  but  it  isn't  much  good  in  currents.  By  Jove, 
how  jolly  this  is.  Why  the  deuce  did  I  take  the  boat  ? 
I  say — look  out !     I  feel  the  trend  of  the  stream." 

Small  doubt  of  that.  They  were  through  the  back- 
water and  in  another  minute  would  be  in  the  full  of  out- 
going river  and  outgoing  tide.  The  opposite  bank 
seemed  slipping  past  them  rapidly.  Duke  changed  his 
stroke  instantly  and  ranged  up  beside  Marrion. 

"  It  will  be  easier  together,"  he  said,  passing  his  hand 
over  her  shoulder,  and  obediently  she  passed  hers  over 
his. 

"Now  then,  together!"  he  cried.  "And  if  you  tire 
you  know  what  to  do ;  and  keep  time,  there's  a  good  girl." 

So  they  struck  off,  the  forward  lunge  of  his  long  legs 
aiding  hers,  that  were  so  far  behind  in  strength.  Thus 
they  battled  the  stream  shoulder  to  shoulder,  almost 
cheek  to  cheek,  her  long  loose  hair  sweeping  across  him, 
until  the  worst  of  it  was  over  and  the  girl  would  fain  have 
loosed  her  grip  and  turned  shorewards  definitely. 

"  Not  yet !"  he  laughed.  "  Let's  swim  out  to  sea  a  bit ! 
Look— isn't  it  worth  it  ?" 

Aye,  worth  everything  else  in  the  world.  Far  out  in 
the  east  over  that  restless  horizon  the  first  ray  of  the  sun 
had  tipped,  sending  a  widening,  radiant  path  of  pure 
gold  to  meet  them.  It  shone  on  her  red-brown  hair, 
turning  it  to  bronze ;  it  shone  in  their  blue  eyes,  turning 
them  to  sapphires;  and  it  shone  on  their  wholesome, 
happy  faces,  transfiguring  them  out  of  all  semblance  to 


MARMADUKE  41 

beings  of  dingy  earth  and  purifying  them  from  all  mortal 
taint.  They  were  freed  souls  swimming  in  the  vasty 
ether,  all  around  them  the  dawn  of  a  new  day. 

So  they  went  on  and  on,  till  suddenly  Duke  veered 
their  course  shorewards  with  one  guiding  stroke. 

"  I  shall  tire  you  out,"  he  said  softly,  and  his  freed 
hand,  as  he  disentangled  her  hair  from  his  neck,  lifted 
the  shiny  strands  to  his  lips  for  a  second.  "  You  have  got 
such  jolly  hair,  Marmie !  I  wonder  you  don't  wear  it 
down  your  back.  None  of  the  fellows  could  resist  you 
then." 

Their  faces  were  away  from  the  dawn  now  and  hers 
already  had  a  cloud  on  it. 

"Tni  going  to  the  big  rock.  I  left  my  shawl  there," 
she  said,  directing  her  course  towards  it. 

Duke  followed  suit  in  silence.     Suddenly  he  said — 

"  I  can't  think  how  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to  get  drunk 
last  night.  It  shan't  occur  again;  but,  you  know,  I 
shouldn't  have  had  this  perfectly  stunning  time  if  I 
hadn't,  should  I  ?  We  must  repeat  it  every  morning, 
Marmie,  mustn't  we?" 

"  Weather  permitting,"  she  replied,  almost  bitterly. 
"  But  it's  no  often  sae  comfortable  to  be  in  the  water  as 
it  is  this  morning,  Mr.  Duke." 

"  Ah,  you  should  have  been  with  me  in  the  Indies ! 
You  could  stop  in  all  day.  You're  not  feeling  cold,  I 
hope  ?" 

Cold !  With  every  pulse  in  her  body  clamouring  for 
sheer  joy  in  his  presence. 

"  I'll  no  be  cold  when  I  get  my  shawl,"  she  said  calmly ; 
then,  seeing  him  turn,  called  quickly — 

"  You're  no  going  across  again,  Mr.  Duke,  it  isn't  safe  !" 


42  MARMADUKE 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  from  the  beginning,  eh  ?  No ; 
of  course  I'm  not.  I'm  going  to  swim  up  the  side  to  the 
steps  and  send  the  ghillie  for  the  boat." 

She  watched  the  rhythmic  spluttering  of  his  overhand 
stroke  past  the  point.  He  would  be  home  before  her,  she 
thought,  as  somewhat  wearily  she  climbed  the  rocks  to 
the  keep.  It  had  been  a  real  joy.  In  all  her  life,  long 
or  short,  she  would  never  forget  it. 

That  was  the  pity  of  it,  for  the  memory  might  become 
a  pain. 


CHAPTER  V 

MARMADUKE  MuiR'S  repentances,  like  many  of  his  virtues 
and  vices,  were  apt  to  be  evanescent.  So  the  next  week, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  saw  many  a  lapse  from  his  intention  that 
drunkenness  should  not  occur  again.  In  truth  it  needed 
a  strong  will  to  be  sober  in  Drummuir  Castle.  The  old 
lord  himself  had  a  head  which  nothing  could  upset,  and 
though  he  went  to  his  bed  groaning  with  gout,  no  one 
could  have  said  his  wits  were  in  the  least  astray.  Now 
Marmaduke  had  to  a  certain  extent  inherited  this  tolera- 
tion of  alcohol,  a  fact  which  at  once  gratified  his  father 
and  set  the  old  sinner  to  the  graceless  task  of  inciting 
his  son  to  more  and  more  glasses  of  good  claret,  cham- 
pagne, and  port  in  order  to  see  how  far  the  inheritance 
went.  And  Marmaduke,  partly  because  he  was  anxious 
to  ingratiate  himself  with  his  irascible  parent  and  partly 
from  sheer  joie  de  vivrey  fell  in  with  the  old  man's  whim. 
In  reality  it  meant  much  to  him  that  he  should  get  to  the 
right  side  of  his  father.  He  had  a  chance  of  his  majority 
if  only  fifteen  hundred  pounds  odd  could  be  found  over 
and  above  the  regulation  purchase  money.  It  was  a  big 
price ;  but  the  vacancy  was  in  a  crack  Highland  regiment 
and  the  majority  would  give  him  almost  the  certainty  of 
commanding  in  the  future. 

"  The  peer  has  never  done  anything  for  me  in  his  life," 
he  said  angrily  to  Jack  Jardine.  "  I've  gone  into  a  West 
India  regiment.     I've  lived  on  my  pay — and  your  allow- 

43 


44  MARMADUKE 

ance,  old  chap.  By  the  way,  I  do  wish  you'd  make  up 
accounts  between  us.  We  three  brothers  must  owe  you  a 
lot  already,  and  though  we've  all  given  our  post  obits  on 
the  property  when  the  old  man  dies,  I  myself  don't  like 
it.     Worries  me  when  I  have  a  headache,  you  know  !" 

Jack  Jardine  smiled.  The  proposition  for  a  clear 
account  had  been  made  many  times  in  the  past  ten  years, 
sometimes  by  one  brother,  sometimes  by  another — but 
generally  by  Marmaduke — without  in  any  way  altering 
the  relative  positions  of  creditor  and  debtor.  So  he  set 
the  point  aside. 

"  Why  should  you  have  a  headache,  Duke  ?"  he  began 
as  a  prelude  to  a  sermon  on  sobriety  he  had  been  meditat- 
ing for  some  days;  but  Marmaduke' s  candour  took  the 
words  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Not  the  least  reason  in  life,  Jack,  except  that  I  want 
and  will  have  my  majority,  and  I  must  keep  straight  with 
the  peer  till  I  get  the  money.  Look  here,  I'll  tackle  the 
old  man  to-morrow,  and  if  I  succeed  I'll  cut  and  run.  I 
don't  drink  anywhere  else,  Jack,  I  don't  indeed — not, 
I  mean  to  say,  drink? 

Looking  at  the  speaker's  clear,  almost  boyish,  face  his 
hearer  could  well  believe  it. 

"  Your  father  is  suffering  a  lot  from  the  gout  just  now," 
he  said,  dubiously. 

"  And  he'll  go  on  suffering  as  long  as  I'm  here,  and  he 
wants  to  make  me  drunk,"  retorted  Marmaduke,  whose 
perceptions  were  by  no  means  dense,  "  so  the  sooner  it's 
over  the  better  for  both  of  us  ! " 

Accordingly  the  very  next  day  when,  in  accordance 
with  his  usual  custom,  he  wheeled  his  parent  to  the 
paternal  visit  to  the  dower  house,  Marmaduke  broached 


MARMADUKE  45 

the  subject  of  finance  on  the  way  back.  It  was  not  a 
very  auspicious  moment,  for  the  old  gentleman  had  been 
made  at  once  irritable  and  pious  by  an  unwary  allusion 
on  the  part  of  his  youngest  daughter,  Margaret,  to  the 
new  minister  of  the  parish,  the  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce. 
Now  the  reverend  gentleman  in  question  was  at  the  time 
Lord  Drummuir' s  bete  noire.  To  begin  with,  he  had 
been  presented  to  the  living  by  the  Crown,  and  the 
Barons  of  Drummuir  had  for  generations  claimed  the 
right  themselves.  Evil  thinking  people,  indeed,  said 
that  it  was  this  fact  which  made  the  old  man  so  whole- 
hearted an  advocate  of  that  disruption  in  the  Church  of 
Scotland  which  was  then  rending  the  country  in  twain. 
People  talked  of  little  else,  except  railways,  and  on  that 
point  Lord  Drummuir  held  the  most  conservative  of 
views.  They  would,  he  said,  not  without  truth,  play 
the  devil  with  country  society  and  make  it  impossible  for 
a  nobleman  to  travel  in  comfort.  But  no  one  who  knew 
his  lordship  ever  asked  for  consistency  in  his  opinions. 
He  simply  held  them  with  a  tenacity  that  was  perfectly 
appalling.  So  the  mere  mention  of  the  Reverend  Patrick 
Bryce's  name,  with  the  addition  of  a  fine  blush  on  his 
daughter's  face  when  she  discovered  her  slip  of  the 
tongue,  had  put  him  into  a  white  heat  of  politeness  and 
piety. 

"  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Margaret,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
prefer  your  having  nothing  to  do  even  with  the  school 
feasts  of  a  man  who,  denying  the  headship  of  the  church 
to  the  Almighty,  continues  to  batten  on  the  loaves  and 
fishes  of — of — and  has  the  cursed  impudence  to  find  fault 
with  other  people's  meat  and  drink,  too,"  he  added, 
fiercely. 


46  MARMADUKE 

Despite  this,  Marmaduke,  who  had  inherited  no  little 
of  his  father's  obstinacy,  took  the  opportunity  of  the 
bath-chair  reaching  the  finest  point  of  the  view  to  say 
with  a  great  show  of  courage — 

"  By  the  way,  sir,  don't  you  think  it's  about  time  to 
send  that  money  for  my  majority  ?  Pringle  is  rather  in 
a  hurry  to  retire,  and  the  price  may  run  up  if  we  don't 
act  soon." 

His  lordship  rather  admired  this  home  thrust  without 
warning,  but  he  was  on  his  guard  at  once  and  cleared  his 
throat  for  a  speech. 

"It's  a  positive  disgrace  to  our  army,  and  so  I  told 
poor  Brougham  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that  promotion 
should  not  only  go  by  purchase  but  that  private  indi- 
viduals should  have  power  to  fill  their  pockets  with  the 
proceeds  of  further  extortion.  It  is  a  kind  of  simony ;  it 
is  the  sale  of  valour,  of  one's  country's  good  !" 

Lord  Drummuir  was  a  noted  orator  when  he  chose, 
even  in  those  days  when  everyone  could  string  words 
together  into  high-sounding  phrases,  and  when  Edmund 
Burke's  foaming  fulminations  were  held  up  to  the  young 
as  models  of  eloquence;  but  Marmaduke  was  obdurate. 

"Possibly,  sir,"  he  interrupted,  "but  I  want  to  do  it. 
You  see,  sir,"  he  warmed  with  his  subject,  "  I'll  be  dashed 
if  I've  troubled  you  much  in  the  last  ten  years — now  have 
I  ?  You've  made  me  an  allowance  on  which  I  couldn't 
live  in  a  gentlemanly  way  at  home.  So  I've  exchanged 
again  and  again  for  foreign  service,  going  down  and 
down  till  I've  landed  in  the  West  Indies.  And  now  I 
have  this  chance  of  getting  back  to  my  old  regiment,  to 
a  soldier's  life  that  is  worth  having " 

"  No  soldier's  life  is  worth  having.     If  you  will  be  kind 


MARMADUKE  47 

enough  to  remember,  I  objected  from  the  first  to  the 
army,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  with  icy  politeness. 

Marmaduke  groaned  aloud. 

"Oh,  don't  let  us  go  back  so  far  as  that,  sir.  The 
thing's  done,  and  practically  you  have  to  decide  now 
whether  you're  going  to  wreck  my  fortune  or  make  it." 

Lord  Drummuir  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief 
solemnly. 

"  And  this  is  what  I  am  asked  to  do,  when  my  physi- 
cians insist  on  absolute  rest  of  body  and  mind.  I  am 
asked  to  consider,  to  take  all  the  responsibility.  No, 
Marmaduke,  you  are  old  enough  to  decide  for  yourself !" 

"  Then  you  wish  me  to  go  back  to  that  miserable  hole  ?" 
began  the  young  man  vehemently. 

"  I  am  informed  on  the  best  authority  that  the  climate 
of  the  West  Indies  has  sensibly  improved  of  late  years," 
remarked  his  lordship,  imperturbably.  "The  discovery 
of  the  cinchona  plant " 

"Damn  the  cinchona  plant!"  burst  out  Marmaduke. 
But  at  that  instant  a  silvery  artificial  little  laugh  rose 
behind  them  and  Mdlle.  Fantine  Le  Grand  appeared 
tripping  over  the  grass  with  the  daintiest  of  sandalled 
feet. 

She  had  again  been  watching  father  and  son  from  her 
window,  and  after  a  week's  hesitation  she  had  suddenly 
decided  that  something  must  be  done  to  stop  what 
seemed  to  be  growing  confidence.  She  had  hitherto 
played  with  the  plan  of  arousing  the  old  man's  jealousy, 
confining  herself  to  half-hearted  flirtations  with  Marma- 
duke, who,  also  on  the  watch,  had  fallen  in  with  the 
amusement  quite  pleasantly.  But  that  morning  Colonel 
Compton  had  spoken  out  his  fears. 


48  MARMADUKE 

"You'll  have  to  look  to  your  p's  and  q's,  Fan,  or  that 
youngster  will  be  running  away  with  some  of  the  peer's 
loose  cash.  And  as  the  estate  is  strictly  entailed  that 
won't  suit  us.  I  overheard  that  weasel,  Jack  Jardine, 
talking  to  the  captain  about  the  purchase  of  his  majority, 
so  you  had  better  look  sharp." 

The  words  echoed  in  her  brain  as  she  had  stood  watch- 
ing father  and  son  in  an  apparently  amicable  conversa- 
tion which  clinched  her  decision.  The  result  being  her 
appearance  before  the  two  conspirators,  provocative  to 
the  very  tilt  of  her  carefully  held  pink  parasol. 

"Oh,  pardon,"  she  began,  in  the  stage  French  accent 
she  affected  in  society,  "  but  I  mean  not  to  disturb  !  Only 
the  filial  picture  of  milor  and  his  too  charming  son  was 
irresistible  to  poor  me — so  sans  famille." 

She  did  not  look  in  the  least  forlorn,  and  Lord  Drum- 
muir's  clear,  wicked  old  eyes,  that  had  seen  to  the  bottom 
of  so  many  evil  things,  took  her  in  from  head  to  foot,  and 
his  clear  wicked  old  brain  considered  what  she  would  be 
at.  Then  he  chuckled  softly,  thinking  he  had  found 
out. 

"  No  apologies  needed,  dear  little  Fan,"  he  said  affec- 
tionately ;  "  you  are  almost  one  of  the  family  already,  so 
we've  no  secrets.  Marmaduke  and  I  were  just  discussing 
the  purchase  of  his  majority.  It  will  take  more  than  two 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds,  I'm  afraid,  won't  it,  dear 
boy? — what  with  the  regulation  and  non-regulation 
figures.  A  big  sum,  my  dear,  a  big  sum.  It  will  make  a 
hole  in  what's  available  for  wedding  presents,  eh,  little 
woman  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  amused  malevolence,  thinking 
he  had  settled  her  hash ;  for  little  Fan  was  not  the  woman 


MARMADUKE  49 

to  flirt  with  a  man  who  was  to  do  her  out  of  a  farthing. 
And  Fantine's  eyes  were  steel  as  she  made  a  little  curtsey. 
"  Who,  my  lord,"  she  warbled  tenderly,  "  could  regret 
money  spent  in  such  a  good  cause  ?  Pardon,"  she  added, 
remembering  her  accent,  "  was  that  not  right  said  ?  I 
mean  that  Marmaduke  " — her  voice  cooed  the  name — "  is 
welcome  to  all  zat  I  could  give  to  him." 
The  baron  burst  into  a  huge  rough  guffaw. 
"Come,  that  is  a  real  good  'un !"  he  cried,  highly 
amused.  "  I  declare  you're  as  good  as  a  play.  But  it's 
not  settled  yet."  Here  he  glanced  at  his  son,  keen  to 
tantalise  him  too,  and  with  reckless  devilry  sowing  the 
seeds  of  evil  broadcast.  "  I  shall  have  to  choose  between 
diamonds  for  my  wife  and  promotion  for  my  son.  Mean- 
while, my  lady,  don't  get  your  pretty  little  feet  damp  on 
the  grass.  Remember  you  have  to  dance  to  us  to-night. 
Ogilvie  and  all  the  good  fellows  for  miles  round  are  com- 
ing to  see  you,  and  you  mustn't  be  a  failure." 

When  the  bath-chair  and  its  wheezy  occupant  had  been 
handed  over  to  the  valet,  Fantine  Le  Grand  and  Marma- 
duke lingered  on  the  steps  together  in  silence. 

"  You  have  not  yet  seen  me  dance  ?"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"  Well,  you  shall  see  me  this  evening  !  I  will  dance  for 
you  alone,  monsieur." 

His  eyes  laughed  into  hers  boldly. 
"It  is  a  bargain,  mademoiselle;  but  I  shall  ask  for 
more,  I  warn  you." 

"  Dieu  merci?  she  said,  with  *  a  tiny  shrug  of  her 
shoulders,  "  you  must  not  ask  too  much  !" 

So  with  provocative  laughter  she  fled  up  the  steps  with 
the  prettiest  of  little  glissades  and  disappeared,  leaving 
Marmaduke  gratified  at  the  impression  he  had  evidently 

4 


50  MARMADUKE 

made,  and  with  a  certain  new  admiration  for  the  demure 
daintiness  of  Mademoiselle  Fantine.  His  father,  devil 
take  him,  hadn't  a  bad  taste. 

He  said  nothing  of  all  this,  however,  to  Jack  Jardine 
when  he  raged  for  a  full  hour  over  his  father's  absolute 
lack  of  human  sympathy. 

"Why  only  yesterday,"  he  stormed,  "he  signed  a 
cheque  for  one  thousand  pounds  because  he  wanted  to 
pose  as  the  patron  of  these  dispossessed  parsons.  It  isn't 
moral,  it  isn't  Christian.  He  doesn't  care  if  he  ruins  me 
body  and  soul.  Anyhow,  I've  done  with  him  for  ever." 
"Then  you  will  leave  at  once?"  suggested  Jack 
Jardine. 

In  truth  he  was  anxious  to  get  the  young  man  away 
from  temptation  as  soon  as  possible,  and  he  knew  well 
that  in  the  end  he  himself  would  have  somehow  or  an- 
other to  negotiate  the  money  for  the  majority. 

"  No,"  replied  Marmaduke.  "  I'm  going  to  stop  on  for 
a  bit." 

And  he  set  his  nether  lip  hard.  He  was  not  going  to 
give  a  cheek  to  the  enemy.  He  meant  to  hit  back  if  he 
could.  If  his  father  couldn't  spare  two  thousand  pounds 
because  he  wanted  to  spend  it  on  a  dancing  woman,  he 
might  find  himself  in  the  position  of  not  having  the  danc- 
ing woman  on  whom  to  spend  it.  He,  Marmaduke,  would 
have  a  try  at  it,  anyhow.  It  was  mean  and  horrible,  of 
course,  but  so  was  the  old  man.     He  began  it. 

Peter  Muir,  coming  in  yawning,  exclaimed  at  his 
brother's  face. 

"  What's  up,  Duke  ?"  he  asked.  "  You  look  in  the  devil 
of  a  temper." 

"  So  I  am,"  retorted  Duke.     "  And  so  would  you  be 


MARMADUKE  51 

if  you  had  the  spunk  to  ask  anything  of  the  baron.  But 
you  haven't,  you  see." 

"Phew!"  said  Peter.  "So  you've  been  attacking  the 
money  bags.  I  could  have  told  you  it  was  no  go.  That's 
why  I  learnt  picquet  of  that  Italian  count  the  governor 
got  hold  of  last  year  and  sent  about  his  business  when 
he  had  rooked  him  of  a  thou  !  Now  I  can  get  a  guinea 
or  two  off  everybody  who  comes  in  to  the  house — except 
you,  Jack.     You  never  will  play." 

"I  don't  wish  to  add  to  your  pocket-money,  Peter; 
you've  too  much  already,"  replied  Jack  Jardine  sternly. 
"Ah,  I've  heard  of  your  beguiling  that  wretched  girl !" 

"  Not  for  the  first  time,  old  man,"  put  in  Peter.  "  You 
shouldn't  talk  about  things  you  don't  understand;  and 
a  fellow  must  have  some  amusement  in  this  cursed  hole, 
especially  when  the  river  is  low.  But  for  the  life  of  me, 
Duke,  I  can't  see  why  you  shouldn't  go  on  half  pay  and 
stop  at  home  a  bit.  We  should  have  some  fine  fun  to- 
gether, and  I'd  teach  you  picquet,  if  you  like." 

Marmaduke  stood  gazing  at  his  young  brother  for  a 
second  or  two  angrily.  Then  his  face  softened,  he  went 
over  to  him  and  laid  his  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  so 
remained  looking  down  on  the  weak  effeminate  face. 

"  You're  talking  what  they  call  ■  bosh '  at  school,  Peter. 
You're  not  a  bit  content  here.  How  could  you  be  ?  Give 
it  up  and  come  along  with  me  when  I  go.  The  old  man 
doesn't  deserve  to  have  a  son." 

Peter  wriggled  himself  away  from  his  brother's  hold. 

"  I  don't  really  see  why  you  should  go." 

"Don't  you?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  Because  I'm  a 
soldier  born  and  bred.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  die  on  the 
field  of  glory,  but  I  shall  have  a  try  at  it.     And  I  mean 


52  MARMADUKE 

to  have  my  majority  in  my  old  regiment  if  I  have  to  forge 
the  old  man's  name  to  get  it." 

With  that  he  gloomed  away  and  loafed  about,  irritated 
at  all  things  and  everything,  even  at  the  preparations 
that  were  being  made  for  the  festivities  of  the  evening, 
for  these  necessitated  his  being  turned  out  of  his  com- 
fortable room  in  order  to  accommodate  some  of  the 
guests. 

"Where  are  they  putting  me?"  he  asked  angrily  of 
Andrew  Fraser,  whom  he  found,  very  long  and  lank  in 
consequence  of  repeated  attacks  of  malarial  fever,  busy 
packing  up  his  dressing  things. 

"It  will  be  tae  whatten  they  used  to  ca'  the  'Agape- 
moan'  in  the  old  lord's  young  days,  sir,"  replied  Andrew. 
"  Jest  yon  big  room  wi'  the  outside  stair  in  the  west  wing 
close  to  the  keep,  sir.  'Tis  a  bonny  eneuch  room  with  a 
fire  to  it,  an'  Marrion  Paul  has  ben  reddin'  it  up  a'  day." 
Marrion  Paul !  The  name  came  as  a  relief  and  a  re- 
gret, for  he  had  not  seen  her — not  anyhow  for  speech — 
since  their  dawn-tide  swim  together.  Now  the  mere 
memory  of  it  in  its  coolness  and  freshness  and  beauty 
calmed  his  irritation,  and  half  aimlessly  he  strolled  across 
the  quadrangle  to  inspect  his  new  quarters.  She  might 
be  there  still.  Apparently  she  was,  for  a  sound  of  deter- 
mined sweeping  came  down  the  stairway. 

"Hullo,  Marmie,  is  that  you?"  he  cried  joyously, 
bounding  up  the  steps  two  at  a  time. 

"  Aye,  Mr.  Duke,  it's  me,"  replied  the  figure  with  the 
broom  laconically. 

Certainly  it  was  a  nice  comfortable  room  with  the  fire 
blazing  and  the  casement  window,  still  somewhat  hung 
with  cobwebs,  set  wide  to  the  summer  sunshine.     Marma- 


MARMADUKE  53 

duke  passed  to  it  and  looked  out.  Beneath  him,  far 
down  the  slanting  red  cliffs  dotted  here  and  there  with 
sombre  pines,  lay  the  castle  pool,  and  over  yonder  to  the 
right  were  the  rocks  on  the  other  side  where  he  had  found 
Marmie  combing  her  hair  like  any  mermaid.  It  was 
hidden  now  under  a  most  unbecoming  dust  kerchief; 
still  the  memory  was  pleasant. 

"I  say,  Marmie,"  he  remarked,  "that  swim  of  ours 
was  stunning,  wasn't  it  ?" 

"  It's  aye  nice  in  the  dawning,"  replied  Marrion  com- 
fortably.    "I've  been  out  twice  since  then,  and  Fm  no 
saying  which  I  enjoyed  the  maist." 
Marmaduke  made  a  wry  face. 

"You  look  as  if  I  were  interrupting  your  work,"  he 
said  tenderly. 

"  So  you  are,  Captain  Duke,"  she  assented  calmly. 
He  clapped  his  hands  to  his  ears  in  mock  alarm,  and 
with  a  laugh  raced  headlong  downstairs,  calling  back 
half-way  that  'Andry'  would  have  his  work  cut  out  for 
him  getting  his  master  to  bed  if  so  be  the  latter  had  had 
a  glass  too  much. 

When   he  had  gone   Marrion  ceased   sweeping  and 
rested  her  cheek  on  the  broom  handle  for  a  bit. 

He — there  was  but  one  he  in  her  life  and  she  faced 
the  fact  quietly — did  not  look  so  well  as  he  did  at  first, 
but  of  that  Andrew  Fraser  had  warned  her.  He  had, 
in  fact,  told  her  of  many  things  which  otherwise  she 
would  not  have  known,  for  she  had  seen  much  of  him  in 
the  last  week.  The  racket  of  the  noisy  servants'  hall,  the 
whole  dissolute  life  of  masters  and  men  up  at  the  castle 
had  not  been  to  his  taste,  and  he  had  taken  to  going  over 
to  the  keep-house  for  quiet,  if  not  for  peace.     But  even 


54  MARMADUKE 

that  was  coming  to  him  by  degrees  as  he  realised  the 
utter  hopelessness  of  his  love  for  Marrion.  But  he  real- 
ised also  that  if  she  was  not  for  him  neither  was  she  for 
any  other  man — except  one;  and  that  was  impossible. 
So,  indeed,  he  had  told  her  plainly  but  a  day  or  two 
before,  when  half-dazed  with  fever  and  ague  which  had 
attacked  him  suddenly,  in  the  keep-house. 

She  had  insisted  on  his  lying  down  in  her  grand- 
father's room,  and  when  she  went  in  to  bring  him  a  cup 
of  hot  tea  he  had  slipped  his  feet  to  the  ground 
apologetically,  and  sitting  up,  a  lank  figure  among  the 
blankets,  his  small  pathetic  eyes  full  of  fever,  had  laid  a 
hot  hand  on  hers  and  said — 

"  I'll  no  be  troubling  you  again,  Marrion.  I  canna 
help  loving  you  and  you  canna  help  loving  him.  It's  no 
oorsels,  ye  see.  It's  just  Providence;  sae  we  must  just 
both  thole  it." 

She  had  stood  silent,  startled  by  the  sudden  attack  for 
a  second ;  then  she  had  said  gravely  — 

"Aye,  Andry,  we  must  just  thole  it." 

Since  then  a  strange  confidence  as  to  Marmaduke's 
sayings  and  doings  had  sprung  up  between  the  two,  and 
even  at  dinner-time  that  very  day  he  had  told  of  his 
master's  irritability. 

"Things  have  gone  ajee,"  he  remarked,  "an'  I'm 
thinkin'  it's  the  money  for  the  majority.  But  what's 
filthy  lucre  to  health  ? — and  sure  as  death  the  captain  is 
no  what  he  was.  Gin'  it  wad  make  him  quit  yon  bad 
auld  man  an'  the  whore-woman  he  is  takin'  to  wife,  I'd 
be  heart  glad." 

For  Andrew  Fraser,  being  acquainted  with  his  Bible, 
did  not  mince  words.     Neither  did  Marrion ;  but  having 


MARMADUKE  55 

more  wits  than  Andrew  she  appraised  the  evils  more 
reasonably,  yet  with  more  prejudice.  Lord  Drummuir 
was  Lord  Drummuir,  and  therefore  in  a  way  must  be 
accepted ;  but  the  woman  was  different. 

Marrion    Paul's   eyebrows    levelled    themselves    to    a 
straight  bar  as  she  went  on  with  her  work. 


58  MARMADUKE 

sandalled  feet  was  pure  joy  to  him.  And  now  the 
rhythm  grew  faster  and  faster;  she  was  like  a  mad 
butterfly  drunk  with  honey  from  the  waiting  flowers. 

The  desire  of  the  eyes  does  not  take  long  to  flame  up 
and  flare,  and  Marmaduke  felt  quite  dizzy  as  he  joined 
in  the  burst  of  applause  when,  with  a  final  pirouette,  the 
danseuse  kissed  her  hand  to  the  audience.  Or  was  it  to 
him? 

"  Never  saw  La  Fantine  dance  better,  Drum,"  remarked 
a  thin  old  man,  a  relic  of  the  past  youth  when  he  and 
the  bridegroom  expectant  had  roystered  about  together, 
"except,  perhaps,  that  time,  you  remember,  when  she 
danced  the  fandango  with  that  South  American  fellow 
she " 

He  paused,  remembering  that  this  incident  in  Mdlle. 
Le  Grand's  career  had  best  not  be  mentioned  under 
present  circumstances. 

"The  fandango?"  put  in  Marmaduke,  afire.  "I 
should  like  to  see  her  dance  that.  It's  the  finest  dance 
in  the  world.     I  learnt  it  in  Cuba." 

"  Hullo,  Drum,"  said  the  old  buck,  "  here's  a  chance ! 
Your  son  says  he  can  dance  the  fandango.  Here's  a 
chance.  Let's  have  it.  They'd  make  a  handsome 
couple." 

Marmaduke  blushed  up  to  the  ears ;  why,  he  knew  not. 
Then  he  said  stiffly — 

"  I'd  rather  not,  Sir  John." 

The  refusal  was  opportune  for  the  fandango;  it  roused 
the  old  man's  arrogance. 

"Why  not,  sir?"  he  asked  angrily.  "You'd  never 
get  a  better  partner.  Here,  Fantine,  my  dear,"  he  added, 
raising  his  voice,  "  this  oaf  of  a  boy  of  mine  says  he  can 


MARMADUKE  57 

as  the  curtains  drew  up  slowly  on  a  background  of  pale 
pink  velvet  hanging  in  loose  folds  to  a  pale  pink  velvet 
floor.  And  the  musty  fustiness  had  gone !  That  was 
attar  of  roses,  pale  pink  roses  like  the  pale  pink  mise-en- 
scene.  And  hark,  the  thread  of  sound  changed  to  two ! 
It  became  rhythmic,  louder  !  A  guitar  ?  No ;  it  must 
be  a  Hungarian  zither.  Marmaduke,  thoroughly  roused, 
thrilled  through  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones  as  he  waited. 
Bent  on  conquest,  he  had  dressed  with  the  greatest  care ; 
from  head  to  foot  he  was  perfection.  Expectant  as  he 
was,  he  was  yet  prepared  to  be  critical ;  but  one  glance  at 
the  figure  which,  after  peeping  with  roguish  face  between 
the  velvet  folds,  stole  out  on  tiptoe  to  the  very  footlights, 
then  stood,  finger  on  lip,  as  if  imploring  silence  for  an 
escapade,  told  him  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  past  mis- 
tress in  her  art,  and  he  sat  back  prepared  for  enjoyment. 

And  La  Fantine,  as  she  had  been  called,  had  brought 
pleasure  to  many  men.  She  was  looking  her  best,  dainty 
to  a  degree.  The  footlights,  with  the  larger  possibilities 
of  powder  and  paint,  had  restored  her  youth,  and  her 
dress  was  entrancing.  Short  clouds  of  pale  pink  tulle 
scarcely  veiled  with  gossamer  black  lace,  all  set  and 
sparkling  with  dewdrops  of  paste  diamonds.  How  they 
glittered  and  disappeared,  twinkling  one  moment  like 
stars  amid  the  diaphanous  black  lace  wings  she  wore  on 
her  head,  then  sinking  to  shadow  again  as  she  moved. 

And  heavens,  how  she  moved  !  The  zither  thrilled 
louder  and  Marmaduke  sat  entranced,  for  their  eyes  had 
met  and  he  realised  that  she  was  keeping  her  promise — 
she  was  dancing  for  him,  for  him  alone.  Like  most 
young  and  vital  creatures  dancing  was  sheer  delight  to 
him,   and    the   very   precision   of   the   black   lace-shod, 


58  MARMADUKE 

sandalled  feet  was  pure  joy  to  him.  And  now  the 
rhythm  grew  faster  and  faster;  she  was  like  a  mad 
butterfly  drunk  with  honey  from  the  waiting  flowers. 

The  desire  of  the  eyes  does  not  take  long  to  flame  up 
and  flare,  and  Marmaduke  felt  quite  dizzy  as  he  joined 
in  the  burst  of  applause  when,  with  a  final  pirouette,  the 
danseuse  kissed  her  hand  to  the  audience.  Or  was  it  to 
him  ? 

"  Never  saw  La  Fantine  dance  better,  Drum,"  remarked 
a  thin  old  man,  a  relic  of  the  past  youth  when  he  and 
the  bridegroom  expectant  had  roystered  about  together, 
"except,  perhaps,  that  time,  you  remember,  when  she 
danced  the  fandango  with  that  South  American  fellow 
she " 

He  paused,  remembering  that  this  incident  in  Mdlle. 
Le  Grand's  career  had  best  not  be  mentioned  under 
present  circumstances. 

"The  fandango?"  put  in  Marmaduke,  afire.  "I 
should  like  to  see  her  dance  that.  It's  the  finest  dance 
in  the  world.     I  learnt  it  in  Cuba." 

"  Hullo,  Drum,"  said  the  old  buck,  "  here's  a  chance ! 
Your  son  says  he  can  dance  the  fandango.  Here's  a 
chance.  Let's  have  it.  They'd  make  a  handsome 
couple." 

Marmaduke  blushed  up  to  the  ears ;  why,  he  knew  not. 
Then  he  said  stiffly — 

"  I'd  rather  not,  Sir  John." 

The  refusal  was  opportune  for  the  fandango;  it  roused 
the  old  man's  arrogance. 

"Why  not,  sir?"  he  asked  angrily.  "You'd  never 
get  a  better  partner.  Here,  Fantine,  my  dear,"  he  added, 
raising  his  voice,  "  this  oaf  of  a  boy  of  mine  says  he  can 


MARMADUKE  59 

dance  the  fandango  !     Show  him  he  can't,  there's  a  good 

girl!" 

"  I  will  do  my  leetle  best,  milor,"  she  replied,  with  a 
maliciously  provocative  smile  that  would  have  incited 
anyone  of  spirit  to  action. 

"I  am  at  mademoiselle's  command  for  tuition,"  said 
Marmaduke,  with  a  fine  bow. 

His  head  was  ringing,  his  pulses  bounding.  He  was 
divided  between  anger  and  delight,  between  a  desire  to 
teach  the  little  devil  and  his  father  a  lesson,  and  keen 
pleasure  at  the  thought  of  the  coming  dance. 

A  minute  after  he  stood  making  his  bow  beside  La 
Fantine. 

"  Do  you  really  know  it  ?"  she  had  whispered. 

"  Better  than  you  do,"  he  had  whispered  back  brutally. 
"  I've  danced  it  in  the  pot-houses  of  Habana." 

Then  it  would  be  a  trial  of  skill  between  them !  She 
nodded  to  the  zither  player  to  begin,  striking  the  strings 
with  loud  full-blooded  notes  that  vibrated  and  thrilled 
through  the  little  theatre  and  came  back  to  aid  the  grow- 
ing clamour  of  the  music.  It  was  grace  and  grace, 
suppleness  and  suppleness  at  first ;  then  by  degrees  some- 
thing fiercely  beautiful,  profoundly,  almost  overwhelm- 
ingly, appealing  to  the  senses.  The  audience  sat  spell- 
bound, while  to  those  two  there  grew  an  absorbing  for- 
getfulness  of  all  save  that  they  two,  man  and  woman, 
were  playing  each  with  the  other.  Suddenly,  when  that 
reckless  forgetfulness  seemed  to  have  reached  its  climax, 
the  woman  faltered  for  a  second,  turned  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"  Don't  you  know  the  rest  ?"  he  whispered  softly. 
"  Come  on,  I'll  teach  it  you." 


60  MARMADUKE 

Half-hypnotised  by  his  look,  his  manner,  she  followed 
his  lead.  The  music,  bewildered,  ignorant,  failed,  came 
to  a  full  stop.  But  it  was  not  needed.  Those  two 
danced  to  the  music  of  the  spheres.  The  coarse  sensu- 
ality of  this  earth  had  passed.  This  was  the  refined 
super-sensuality  of  a  world  of  art,  of  sentiment.  It  was 
self-renunciation  divorced  from  its  real  meaning,  and 
when  finally,  with  La  Fantine's  heart  pressed  to  his,  he 
laid  his  burning  lips  to  hers,  a  great  silence  like  a  sigh 
came  to  the  whole  audience.  It  was  broken  by  Lord 
Drummuir's  stentorian  voice — 

"  You — you  d d  young  scoundrel !      This  is  too 

much " 

Marmaduke  looked  up  jubilant. 

"It's  in  the  original  dance,  isn't  it,  Mademoiselle  Le 
Grand  ?" 

"  I — I  believe  it  is,"  she  faltered  uncertainly.  She  had 
met  with  her  match,  and  that  she  knew. 

"A  most  remarkable  performance,"  said  Sir  John, 
with  unction.  "I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  man. 
You  two  would  be  the  talk  of  London  if  you  could  per- 
suade Mdlle.  Fantine "  he  paused  again,  coughed, 

and  added  precipitately,  "  Really,  my  dear  Drum,  you 
are  to  be  congratulated  on  such  a  son,  and  such  a  future 
wife !  Inimitable,  quite  inimitable !  You'll  never  feel 
the  least  dull  in  the  long  winter  evenings.  Ah,  Mdlle. 
Fantine,  mes  compliments !     I  have  not  seen  you  for 

years;  not  since "  here  once  more  he  pulled  himself 

up  short,  and  Lord  Drummuir,  beguiled  from  wrath 
by  his  ever-ready  sense  of  humour,  burst  in  a  loud 
guffaw. 

"  Look  here,  Johnnie,"  he  cried,  "  hold  your  tongue  and 


MARMADUKE  61 

don't  splay  that  old  foot  of  yours  about  any  more.  Win- 
ter evenings  be  dashed  !  Marmaduke  is  going  back  to 
his  Cuban  partners,  and  little  Fanny  here  is  going  to 
make  my  gruel,  aren't  you,  Fan  ?  Meanwhile,  let's  come 
and  have  some  supper." 

So  they  supped  outrageously,  and  the  noise  of  their 
laughter  echoed  out  over  the  quadrangle,  where  Marrion 
Paul  sat  at  her  door  listening  for  Marmaduke's  step. 
She  had  promised  to  call  Andrew  Fraser  the  moment  she 
heard  it ;  Andrew,  who  for  two  hours  had  been  shivering 
and  shaking  with  ague  under  the  spare-room  blankets, 
and  had  now  apparently  fallen  asleep,  secure  in  Marrion's 
promise  to  rouse  him  on  his  master's  appearance. 

She  had  been  up  twice  to  see  that  the  captain's  room 
was  in  order,  and  like  any  valet  had  laid  out  everything 
that  would  be  required  for  the  night.  So,  leaving  the 
candles  alight,  she  had  come  down  to  stand  at  the  door 
of  the  keep-house  again  and  watch  the  slow  whirling  stars 
almost  stupidly,  and  wonder  what  had  best  be  done  at 
once  to  keep  Duke  friends  with  his  father,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  get  him  away  from  the  godless  crew  up  at 
the  castle. 

A  staggering  step  and  Marmaduke's  voice  joyously 
thick  saying — 

"All  right,  James,  you  needn't  come  any  further.  I 
can  find  my  way  now.  Good-night.  Andrew — where 
the  deuce  are  you,  Andrew  ?  Why  weren't  you  waiting  ?" 
sent  her  in  haste  to  fulfil  her  promise.  But  the  hot  fit 
had  this  time  had  a  firmer  grip  on  Andrew  than  either 
she  or  he  had  expected,  and  she  found  him  lying  with 
closed  eyes  half-unconscious.  And  though  he  roused  at 
her  touch  it  was  only  to  mutter :  "  Let  me  be,  mother ! 


62  MARMADUKE 

I'm  no  goin'  to  the  schule  the  day.  I  wunna;  let  me  be, 
I  say!" 

Marrion,  seeing  he  was  useless,  laid  a  wet  cloth  on  his 
head  and  returned  to  her  station  by  the  door.  It  was  a 
dark  night  and  she  could  see  nothing.  Neither  could 
she  hear  anything. 

What  had  happened?  Had  Marmaduke  managed 
the  stairs  by  himself  ?  If  so,  well  and  good.  He  could 
be  left  to  his  own  devices,  and  serve  him  very  well  right ! 
The  candles  were  in  a  safe  place.  But  if  he  had  fallen 
by  the  way,  he  would  be  out  all  night.  Serve  him  right 
also  !  Her  lips  curled  with  scorn,  and  she  was  about  to 
go  in  and  close  the  door  when  she  remembered  that  the 
kitchen  girls  shaking  their  mats  in  the  quadrangle  in  the 
early  morning  would  see  him  if  he  were  lying  there.  If 
it  were  men  it  would  not  have  mattered,  but  that  girls 
should  see  and  snigger  was  unbearable.  She  must  go 
and  make  sure  this  would  not  happen.  Taking  the 
lantern — for  it  was  pitch  dark — she  made  her  way  to  the 
foot  of  the  stair.  He  was  lying  with  his  head  on  the 
lowest  step,  as  he  had  fallen,  sleeping  peacefully.  The 
cool  night  air  had  completed  the  work  of  wine,  and  so 
doubtless  he  would  sleep  for  hours.  But  he  must  not; 
that  disgrace  must  be  avoided.  Kneeling  beside  him  she 
shook  him  violently  by  the  shoulder;  he  roused  a  little, 
but  not  much,  and  as  he  sank  back  to  renewed  slumber 
she  looked  helpless  for  a  moment,  then  angry.  It  was  too 
bad !  He  must  be  roused  somehow.  She  lifted  her 
hand  and  gave  him  a  good  smart  blow  on  the  cheek. 

The  effect  was  magical. 

"  Marmie,"  he  murmured  dazedly,  then  sat  up  and  said 
confusedly,  "  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?" 


MARMADUKE  63 

"  You've  got  to  get  up  and  go  to  your  bed,  Mr.  Duke," 
she  replied.     "  Come,  be  quick  about  it." 

He  stumbled  to  his  feet  obediently. 

"  Certainly,  certainly !  No  objection  whatever,"  he 
said  thickly ;  but  when  by  the  light  of  the  lantern  he  saw 
the  stairs  he  gave  a  silly  laugh,  and  said  amiably  :  "  Quite 
impossible,  I  'sure  you.     Where's  Andrew  ?" 

"Andrew  is  not  here,  Mr.  Duke,"  she  replied  firmly. 
"  Til  help  you  up.  Hold  on  to  the  rail  with  your  right 
hand ;  HI  see  to  you." 

He  delivered  himself  into  her  strong  grip,  body  and 
soul,  and  so,  with  a  few  stumbles,  they  reached  the  top 
of  the  stairs.  Here  she  hesitated  a  moment,  then  led 
him  on. 

"  Sit  you  down  on  your  bed,  Duke.  HI  help  you  off 
with  your  coat.  Ye'U  sleep  better  without  it.  An*  now 
kick  off  yer  pumps,"  she  went  on  calmly,  a  sort  of  fierce 
motherhood  possessing  her,  "an*  I'd  better  loosen  yer 
stock ;  'tis  tight  enough  to  suffocate  ye." 

He  acquiesced  in  all,  sinking  to  sleep  without  a  word 
almost  before  she  had  finished  her  ministrations.  Then, 
taking  a  plaid  that  hung  over  a  chair,  she  covered  him 
over  and  prepared  to  go.  But  regret,  anger,  outraged 
affection  were  too  strong  for  her.  She  flung  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  the  bed  and  buried  her  face  on  his  un- 
conscious breast. 

"  Ah,  Duke,  Duke,"  she  moaned,  "  how  can  ye  !  Ah, 
Duke,  Duke,  you  mustn't,  you  shall  not  spoil  your  life 
— you  shall  not,  you  shall  not !" 

After  a  time  calm  came  to  her,  and,  drawing  a  chair 
to  the  side  of  the  bed,  she  sat  down  on  it  and,  clasping 
her  hands  tight  together,  forced  herself  to  think  of  the 


64  MARMADUKE 

future.  But  again  and  again  she  caught  herself  compar- 
ing those  two  unconscious  faces — Andrew's  all  flushed 
with  fever,  Duke's  all  flushed  with  wine.  Yet  compari- 
sons were  useless  before  Fate.  She  stood  up  at  last, 
crossed  the  room,  blew  out  the  candles,  shut  the  door,  and 
went  downstairs,  certain  but  of  one  thing,  that  somehow 
she  was  bound  by  the  very  greatness  of  her  love  to  stand 
between  Duke  and  danger. 

Her  grandfather  was  home,  and  snoring.  Andrew  she 
found  better  and  beginning  to  fret  over  his  inability  to 
serve  his  master. 

"  Dinna  fash  yersel,"  she  said  kindly.  "  I  heard  James 
6ring  him  over  a  while  back,  and  hell  have  seen  to  him." 

So,  absolutely  outwearied,  she  went  to  her  bed,  to  sleep 
at  once  and  dream  that  Duke  had  thanked  her  and  gone 
away  from  the  godless  household  never  to  return.  But 
Duke,  meanwhile,  was  dreaming  about  wonderful  white 
arms  that  had  left  powder  on  his  coat  and  wonderful  red 
lips  that  he  had  kissed  boldly,  defying  the  world. 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  not  only  Marrion  Paul  whose  night  had  been  dis- 
turbed. Lord  Drummuir,  brought  thereto  by  many 
days'  indiscretions,  Perigord  pie  at  supper,  and  per- 
chance his  hot  though  transient  anger  at  the  finale  to  the 
fandango,  fell  a  victim  to  the  sharpest  attack  of  gout  he 
had  had  since  Christmas  and  kept  his  side  of  the  house 
awake  with  his  curses  on  things  in  general,  and  his  valet 
in  particular. 

And,  on  the  other  side  of  the  south  wing,  Fantine  Le 
Grand,  alias  Fanny  Biggs,  sat  till  dawn,  staring  at  her- 
self in  the  looking-glass  and  ciphering  out  the  effect  of 
something,  new  yet  old,  which  had  unexpectedly  come 
into  her  life.  She  had  sent  her  maid  to  bed,  but  felt  no 
inclination  for  her  own,  until  the  disturbing  element  had 
been  thoroughly  reckoned  with;  for  she  was  eminently 
practical  and  shrewd. 

So  she  sat,  her  elbows  on  the  dressing-table,  her  fingers 
cramped  in  her  loosened  hair,  taking  stock  of  the  pretty 
painted  face  which  had  been  the  loadstar  of  her  life.  It 
was  beginning  to  show  age.  She  had  admitted  that  to 
herself  for  some  time  past,  and  had  told  herself  it  was 
time  for  her  to  draw  in  her  horns.  But  now  had  come 
this  disturbing  factor.  Only  that  morning  she  had 
remorselessly  plotted  to  turn  Marmaduke  out  of  the 
house  by  fair  means  or  foul.     Now  she  was  clear-sighted 

65  5 


66  MARMADUKE 

enough  to  admit  that  she  would  much  rather  keep  him 
beside  her. 

Strange  that  one  dance,  one  delicious  abandonment 
of  herself  to  his  directions  should  have  revived  her 
youth — made  her  think  of  the  gouty  old  man  with  posi- 
tive loathing. 

"You  are  a  fool,"  she  murmured  to  her  reflection  in 
the  glass ;  but  the  reflection  answered  back — "  It  is  your 
last  chance.     Why  miss  it  ?" 

She  thought  and  thought,  only  one  thing  coming  to 
her  with  certainty.  To  play  with  Marmaduke,  as  she 
had  proposed  to  do,  would  be  to  play  with  Are.  Was 
she  prepared  for  this  ? 

At  last,  wearied  out,  she  rose,  poured  out  a  double 
dose  of  sleeping  drops,  and  put  off  further  considerations 
for  the  morning,  since  no  matter  at  what  decision  she 
arrived,  she  could  not  afford  to  be  haggard.  She  woke, 
late  as  usual,  to  feel,  with  the  usual  buoyancy  of  perfect 
he^th  and  practically  no  conscience,  that  she  had  been 
making  a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill ;  but  the  first  glance 
at  the  breakfast-table  laid  in  her  little  boudoir  sent  a 
thrill  through  her  which  reminded  her  that  there  were 
indeed  pitfalls  ahead.  For  on  it  lay  a  huge  bunch  of 
red,  red  roses,  tied  together  somewhat  clumsily  with  a 
red  silk  officer's  scarf,  and  in  it  was  tucked  away  a  boyish 
note :  "  Excuse  tie,  I  hadn't  any  other  ribbon.  Hope 
you  aren't  tired  after  our  wonderful  dance.  My  love 
to  you." 

So  it  was  real,  tangible ;  and  something  must  be  settled 
one  way  or  the  other.  She  frowned  over  her  breakfast 
and  then,  untying  the  bouquet,  disposed  the  roses  about 
the  room,  since  Lord  Drummuir,  of  whose  illness  she  had 


MARMADUKE  67 

not  yet  heard,  might  come  in  at  any  moment.  The  tie 
she  set  aside,  its  fate  being  not  yet  decided. 

After  a  while  Colonel  Compton,  as  usual,  lounged  in, 
a  cigar  in  his  mouth. 

"  By  George,  Fan,"  he  said  admiringly,  "  that  was  a 
treat  you  gave  us  last  night !  Upon  my  soul,  if  I'd  known 
you  had  so  much  spunk  left  in  you,  I'd  never  have  advised 
your  going  on  the  shelf!  If  you  could  only  get  that 
young  fellow  as  a  co,  you'd  take  the  town  by  storm." 

"  Should  I  ?"  she  answered,  with  a  half  yawn ;  but  her 
mind  seized  instantly  on  a  new  idea. 

"  Of  course  you  would,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I've  done 
a  bit  of  impresario  work  in  my  time.  Marks,  if  he'd 
seen  it,  would  have  offered  you  fifty  sovs  a  night  on  the 
spot.  The  old  man  is  no  mean  judge,  and  you  saw  how 
it  angered  him." 

She  burst  into  a  little  laugh. 

"  But  he  soon  got  over  it.  You  see  he  has  a  sense  of 
humour;  if  he  hadn't,  I  could  not  stand  him,  I  really 
couldn't!" 

"  Don't  know  about  getting  over  it.  He's  down  to-day 
with  a  real  bad  fit  of  the  gout " 

"  Is  he  ?"  she  remarked  coolly.  "  Then  I  shall  have 
a  holiday."  As  she  said  the  words  her  mind  travelled 
over  the  possibilities  of  even  a  few  days.  "  Compton," 
she  said  suddenly,  "  I  never  quite  understand  the  position 
of  affairs  in  regard  to  Drummuir's  sons.  The  estate's 
entailed,  isn't  it?" 

"  Heir  male  of  the  body,"  replied  the  colonel.  "  That 
is  why  I  warned  you  to  look  out  lest  Marmaduke  should 
worm  money  out  of  his  father.  So  long  as  the  old  man 
lives  you're  all  right ;  but  when  he  dies  you  will  only  have 


68  MARMADUKE 

the  cash  and  the  savings — and  the  title.  The  rest  all 
goes  to  Pitt — after  him,  as  he  has  no  children,  and  isn't 
likely  to  have  any — to  Marmaduke  as  heir  presumptive. 
After  him  to  Peter,  but  Marmaduke  is  sure  to  marry; 
he's  really  a  very  good-looking  fellow " 

She  interrupted  him  curtly;  she  did  not  need  to  be 
told  that. 

"Thanks.  I  quite  understand,  only  I  wished  to  be 
sure." 

She  passed  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Peter,  as 
usual  surrounded  by  a  perfect  pack  of  silly,  silky 
spaniels — they  suited  him  exactly  with  his  wide  weak 
mouth,  long  fair  hair,  and  general  exuberance  of  dress — 
was  on  the  lawn  talking  to  Marmaduke.  The  latter 
looked  up,  saw  her,  and  bowed.  She  kissed  her  hand  to 
him  and  returned  to  her  seat,  her  mind  still  confused, 
but  her  will  steady. 

"  Well,"  she  said  lightly,  "  I  suppose  by  and  by  I  shall 
have  to  go  in  and  cheer  up  my  fiance,  but  I  shan't  be 
sorry  for  a  few  days'  holiday." 

She  told  Marmaduke  so  also  when  she  appeared, 
exquisite  and  dainty,  declaring  that,  as  she  was  useless 
at  home,  since  his  father,  poor  dear,  could  not  even  bear 
the  sight  of  her  for  more  than  five  minutes,  she  thought 
it  would  be  a  fine  opportunity  to  see  a  little  more  of  the 
place  than  she  had  hitherto  been  able  to;  and  would 
Marmaduke  tell  her  where  to  go. 

The  result  of  which  innocent  interrogatory  being  that 
in  the  full  glory  of  a  summer  afternoon,  the  sea  calm  as  a 
mill  pond,  Marmaduke  found  himself  sitting  in  a  boat 
as  it  drifted  idly  beneath  the  old  red  sandstone  cliffs 
facing  the  North  Sea  with  his  arm  round  La  Fajatine's 


MARMADUKE  69 

waist  and  a  curious  mixture  of  desire  and  disdain  in  his 
heart. 

"  You  see,  my  dear  boy,"  she  was  saying,  "  I  dare  say 
you  think  ill  of  me." 

"I  don't,  I  don't  indeed !"  he  protested. 

"  Well,  you  did  think  ill  of  me,"  she  continued,  with  a 
heavenly  smile;  "but  I  really  have  all  the  Christian 
virtues.  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  I  hate  giving  pain,  or 
seeing  people  suffer.  And  I  like  doing  my  best  for  people, 
if  I  can.  Now  my  proposition  sounds  rather  impossible, 
but  it  really  is  quite  feasible.  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about 
our  feelings,  Duke.  We  both  of  us  remember  last  night, 
so  we  will  leave  them  out  of  the  question.  But  you  are  a 
young  man,  you  have  a  future  before  you — that  is  to  say, 
if  you  play  your  cards  properly.  You  want  to  be  a 
soldier " 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  anything  else,"  interrupted  Mar- 
maduke  decidedly,  "  so  your  plan  of  my  making  money 
by  dancing  with  you  is  out  of  the  question ." 

"  Not  on  six  months'  sick  leave,  under  an  assumed 
name  ?  Now,  Duke,  listen  and  don't  interrupt.  If  you 
and  I  join  forces  and  run  away  from  here,  I  will  engage 
to  get  the  money  for  your  majority.  I  tell  you  any 
manager  would  advance  two  thousand  on  the  fandango 
alone — or  Jack  Jardine  could  finance  one  half — as  he 
always  does,  and  I  the  other.  Then  you  could  join,  get 
leave,  disappear,  have  a  real  stunning  six  months  with 
me — London,  Paris,  Vienna  perhaps.  You  don't  know 
what  the  life  is  like,  Duke — and  I'm  not  jealous  or  exact- 
ing.    I  like  to  amuse  myself,  and  so  should  you." 

He  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"What  an  imagination  you  have!"  he  said.      "And 


70  MARMADUKE 

you  settle  everything  so  quickly.     You  remind  me " 

And  here  the  thought  of  Marrion  Paul  made  him  sud- 
denly shift  back  to  the  thwart  and  begin  to  scull  once 
more.  "We  are  nearing  the  current,"  he  said  apologetic- 
ally, "and  she  needs  steering — and  so  do  I !"  he  added, 
with  a  charming  smile,  "  so  go  on,  please,  with  your 
imaginations." 

She  gave  him  a  sharp  look,  saw  he  had  still  some  fight 
left  in  him,  and  like  a  good  fisherman  let  him  have  his 
head  a  bit. 

"  Of  course  it  is  all  imagination,"  she  assented,  "  and  it 
depends  on  whether  you  think  it  worth  while  to  pay  the 
price  I  ask  for  all  this.  I  am  five  years  older  than  you 
are,  Duke"  (in  reality  she  was  fifteen,  but  under  a 
rose-lined  sun  hat  years  disappear),  "but  I  am  still 
attractive." 

She  said  the  word  so  cunningly  that  he  laid  on  his 
oars  and  bent  forward  till  his  burning  eyes  were  close 
to  hers. 

"Attractive!"  he  echoed.  "You're  more  than  that, 
and  you  know  it — at  any  rate,  I  do  ! " 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  she  assented,  "  for  it  makes  it  easier 
for  both  of  us;  but,  as  I  said,  I  don't  wTant  to  dwell  on 
our  feelings,  they  are  too  recent  to  be — er — reliable.  It 
is  purely  as  business  that  I  put  it  to  you.  I  want  to  get 
back  to  the  old  life,  if  I  can  do  it  with  any  chance  of 
success.  Last  night  showed  me  I  could.  But  I  also 
want  to  be  Lady  Drurhmuir.  You  want  to  get  your 
majority,  and  also — there  is  no  use  in  mincing  words — 
to  spite  your  father  for  not  giving  you  the  money.  Now 
all  these  desires  can  be  combined -" 

The  grating  of  the  keel  on  a  shingly  shore  interrupted 


MARMADUKE  71 

her,  and  Marmaduke  stood  up,  shipped  his  oars,  and 
held  out  both  his  hands. 

"  Let's  leave  it  for  the  time,  little  lady,  or  you'll  per- 
suade me  out  of  my  persuasion  that  you're  right.  There's 
the  most  ideal  spot  for  lovers  just  round  that  rock.  Let's 
go  there  and  forget  everything  and  everybody  except 
that  I  am  the  most  delightful  man  in  the  world,  and  you 
are  the  most  delightful — and  attractive — woman!" 

The  hint  of  artificiality  in  his  tone  made  her  frown, 
but  there  was  frank  sensual  admiration  in  his  look  as  he 
set  her  down  after  lifting  her  from  the  boat 

"  I  think,"  he  said  softly,  as  he  held  out  a  finger  bleed- 
ing from  the  prick  of  a  pin,  "you  are  the  daintiest, 
thorniest  thing  I  ever  touched.  You're  like  the  roses  I 
gave  you  this  morning,  all  colour,  sweetness  and  scent, 
and — thorns." 

Whereat  they  both  laughed  as  they  made  their  way 
to  the  ideal  spot  for  lovers.  To  their  surprise  and  dis- 
comfiture they  found  it  already  occupied  by  Margaret 
Muir,  who  was  looking  sentimentally  out  to  sea  with 
the  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce's  arm  round  her  waist. 

"Meg!"  cried  Marmaduke,  aghast. 

"  Oh,  Marmaduke  !  Why  ?  How  did  you  come  ?" 
wailed  his  sister,  jumping  up  and  looking  round  as  if  for 
escape. 

The  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce,  however,  stood  his 
ground.  He  was  a  small  spare  man  of  about  fifty,  dapper 
and  spruce,  his  curling  grey  hair  having  the  appearance 
of  a  wig  under  his  low  crowned  hat,  his  clear,  starched 
clerical  bands  natty  to  a  degree. 

"  Captain  Marmaduke  Muir,  I  presume,"  he  said,  with 
a  bow  of  a  marquis.     "  I  regret  much  exposing  my  dear 


72  MARMADUKE 

Miss  Margaret  Muir  to  this  unpleasantness,  but  I  beg  you 
to  believe  that,  as  my  affianced  wife,  I  am  ready  to  defend 
her  to  the  uttermost." 

Marmaduke  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  delin- 
quents. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,  Meg,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that 
you  wish  to  marry  the  minister  ?" 

The  very  idea  seemed  to  him  preposterous,  absurd; 
he  almost  laughed  at  it. 

The  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  gave  her  no  time  for 
reply. 

"  She  not  only  desires  to  marry  me,  sir,  but  she  is  going 
to  do  so,  please  God,  before  long.  Yes,  sir,  I  propose 
to  take  her  away  from  a  demoralising  atmosphere,  and 
give  her,  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  the  love  and  affec- 
tion she  deserves." 

He  looked  very  gallant  as  he  made  his  little  speech, 
and  Marmaduke  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  played 
the  gentleman  well.  Still,  he  turned  again  to  his  sister 
in  incredulity. 

"You  can't  do  it,  Meg.  To  begin  with,  if  the 
Baron " 

"  Baron  Drummuir,  sir,  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  it," 
interrupted  the  little  minister  once  more.  "  The  Honour- 
able Margaret  Muir  is  of  age,  and  if  she  chooses  to  marry 
a  man  of  birth  equal  to  her  own — I  do  not  care  to  boast 
of  my  ancestry,  sir,  but  Bryce  and  Bruce  are  the  same, 
and  my  family  tree  shows  Robert  of  Scotland  to  be  my 
immediate  ancestor — she  is  at  liberty  to  do  so." 

"  That  is  for  Lord  Drummuir  to  decide,"  said  Marma- 
duke grimly.  "Of  course,  I  shall  tell  him,  Meg,  what 
I've  seen." 


MARMADUKE  73 

Margaret  clasped  her  hands  in  entreaty. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't,  Duke — please,  please  !" 

"  Margaret/'  interrupted  the  minister  sharply,  "  oblige 
me  by  not  entreating  your  brother  to  silence.  Let  him 
speak  if  he  chooses.     We  are  not  ashamed  of  ourselves." 

All  this  time  Mdlle.  Le  Grand  had  been  watching  the 
scene  with  her  sharp  eyes,  and  her  acute  little  brain  had 
been  working  out  any  advantage  to  herself.  Now  she 
saw  her  way  and  slipped  forward  with  a  smile. 

"  My  dear  Marmaduke,"  she  said,  as  the  two  men  stood 
glaring  at  each  other,  "live  and  let  live  is  a  valuable 
motto.  You  must  remember  that  Margaret  can  also  tell 
on  us.  Silence  on  both  sides  is  the  best  way  out  of  the 
difficulty.     Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Muir  ? 

Margaret  gave  a  frightened  look  at  her  brother. 

"Ah,  Duke,"  she  cried,  "you  don't  mean  to  say 
you " 

Fantine  Le  Grand  interrupted  her  with  perfect  aplomb. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  my  dear  young  lady ; 
but  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  what  would  happen  if  your 
father  got  wind  of  this  excursion  of  ours.  So,  as  I  said, 
silence  is  wise.     Don't  you  agree  with  me,  sir  ?" 

The  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  once  more  made  the  bow 
of  a  marquis. 

"  I  reserve  the  right  to  speak  if  I  choose " 

"  And  so  do  I,"  she  retorted  sweetly,  "  only  we  won't 
choose.  Come,  Marmaduke,  it  is  time  we  were  going 
back.  Had  we  not  better  take  your  sister  with  us  ?  It 
will  look  better — for  both  sides." 

And  here  she  gave  a  delightful  tinkle  of  a  laugh. 

She  kept  up  the  role  so  well  on  the  return  journey  that 
simple  Margaret  Muir  was  quite  fascinated,  and  when, 


74  MARMADUKE 

artfully,  the  suggestion  was  made  that  Marmaduke 
should  see  his  sister  home  to  the  Dower  House,  the  latter 
took  the  occasion  to  remark,  as  the  former  had  hoped 
she  would,  on  her  surprise  at  finding  Mdlle.  Le  Grand 
so  agreeable  and  so  well  mannered. 

"  She  is  very  charming,"  replied  Marmaduke,  a  trifle 
gloomily,  "  and  very  clever." 

He  felt  vaguely  that  he  had  been  played  with,  and 
that  he  had  had  no  more  responsibility  in  the  game  than 
a  pawn  at  chess.  He  felt  also  that  the  compact  of  silence 
with  his  sister  brought  imaginings  nearer  to  reality. 

And  the  idea  of  that  six  months  on  the  Continent  was 
a  temptation ;  anyhow,  he  would  have  another  go  at  the 
old  man  first. 

If  he  still  refused — well,  on  his  head  be  it ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Days  are  long  to  a  man  and  a  woman  when  one  of  them 
passionately  desires  the  other,  for  every  instant  counts, 
every  moment  spells  success  or  failure.  And  Fantine  Le 
Grand,  with  her  almost  lifelong  experience  of  intrigue, 
was  not  one  to  let  the  grass  grow  under  her  feet.  So  when, 
two  days  later,  Marmaduke  ran  over  the  quadrangle  to 
beg  a  favour  of  Marrion  Paul,  most  of  his  scruples  had 
disappeared,  and,  for  the  time,  at  any  rate,  he  was  an 
admiring  lover,  eager  to  do  anything  and  everything 
for  the  woman  of  the  moment. 

"  You  can,  quite  well,  if  you  like,  Marrion,"  he  pleaded. 
"  It  would  only  be  for  a  day  or  two,  till  Josephine  could 
put  her  foot  to  the  ground  again.  And  Mdlle.  Le  Grand — 
she  has  been  very  much  maligned,  Marmie — is  perfectly 
charming.  Now  do.  It  isn't  often  I  ask  you  to  do  any- 
thing for  me,  is  it  ?" 

Marrion  Paul  had  opened  her  eyes  at  the  proposition, 
which  was  briefly  that,  during  the  temporary  disable- 
ment of  Mdlle.  Le  Grand's  French  maid,  she  should  go 
over  and  take  her  place.  She  had  been  on  the  point  of 
refusal  when  that  "for  me"  startled  her.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  could  count  that  woman's  convenience  his 
own  ?     She  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  second. 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you,  Captain  Duke,"  she  said. 

In  an  instant  all  the  old  charm,  all  the  old  camaraderie 
came  to  his  voice — 

75 


76  MARMADUKE 

"I  knew  you  would,  Marmie.  I  told  her  so.  You're 
a  real  friend,  you  do  such  a  lot  of  things  for  me."  Then 
he  in  his  turn  hesitated,  looked  confused,  and  finally 
spoke :  "  I  had  such  odd  dreams  that  night — the  night 
we  danced,  you  know.  I  dreamt  that  you  helped  me  up 
the  stairs  and — and  put  me  to  bed  like  a  baby."  He 
paused.     "  Did  you,  really,  Marmie  ?" 

The  colour  rushed  to  her  face. 

"  Aye,  Captain  Duke,  I  did.  Andrew  was  ill  and  you 
were  drunk." 

Her  straightforward  candour  abashed  him  beyond 
words. 

"Fni  sorry,"  he  said  at  last,  so  humbly  that  her  heart 
melted  within  her.  Then  he  added,  with  a  sudden  influx 
of  joyousness,  "  But  I'm  really  going  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  I'm  going  to  cut  and  run  before  long  and  let  my 
father  stew  in  his  own  juice." 

She  caught  him  up  instantly. 

"  Your  father's  your  father,  Mr.  Duke,  and  you're  the 
heir  to  the  old  barony.  You  mustn't  forget  that.  It's 
laid  on  you,  and  it's  not  to  be  put  aside." 

He  paused  as  he  was  going,  vexedly. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  put  it  aside,  Marmie.  I  am  only 
going  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain.  If  the  old  lord 
won't  give  me  the  money  for  my  majority,  I'm  not  going 
to  stick  on  here  getting  drunk  to  please  him." 

There  was  distinct  virtue  in  the  last  phrase,  and 
Marmie  smiled.  And  as  she  looked  in  the  old  clothes 
drawer  for  some  black  silk-frilled  aprons  which  her 
mother  had  worn  when  she  was  maid  to  the  first  Lady 
Drummuir,  she  told  herself  that  Duke  was  nothing  but — 
as  he  had  said — a  big  baby,  and  that,  no  matter  what  the 


MARMADUKE  77 

dancing-woman  might  be  like,  she,  Marrion,  was  glad  to 
be  in  a  position  where  she  could  see  for  herself  what  was 
going  on. 

She  looked  very  demure,  very  uncompromising  and 
upright,  therefore,  when  that  same  afternoon,  attired 
after  a  little  coloured  sketch  of  her  mother  as  maid,  she 
stood  waiting  for  Fantine  Le  Grand  to  come  up  and 
dress  for  dinner.  Yet,  even  so,  the  latter's  instant  and 
quite  unpremeditated  remark  was — 

"  Captain  Muir  did  not  tell  me  you  were  so  good- 
looking." 

It  was  a  revelation  to  Marrion's  quick  wits,  but  she  was 
ready  in  reply. 

"Maybe  he  never  looked  to  see,  ma'am,"  she  said 
demurely,  "  having  his  eyes  busy  with  prettier  things." 

Fantine  Le  Grand  laughed  easily  and  her  manner 
changed  to  more  familiarity  at  once. 

"You  know  which  side  your  bread  is  buttered,  my  girL 
So  much  the  better.  Now  I  wonder  how  much  use  you 
will  be?" 

"  I  was  six  years  at  the  dressmaking,  madam,"  replied 
Marrion,  "  and  the  forewoman  gave  me  all  the  touching- 
up  work;  she  said  I  had  a  good  hand  for  folds." 

Fantine  gave  a  relieved  sigh. 

"  Then  you're  not  quite  a  bumpkin,  but  I  suppose  you 
can't  do  hair  ?" 

"I  can,  a  little,"  said  Marrion;  "I  learnt  just  a  wee 
while  in  Perragier's  shop  in  Edinburgh.  The  foreman 
wanted  me  to  stop,  but  I  don't  care  for  the  business." 

All  of  which  was  absolutely  true;  for  the  hairdresser 
who  had  offered  her  gold  for  her  russet  hair  had  after- 
wards offered  her  his  heart  and  hand.     What  is  more  he 


78  MARMADUKE 

had  hardly  yet  withdrawn  his  offer,  and  only  that  morn- 
ing the  post  had  brought  her  a  long  and  friendly  letter 
enclosing  a  sachet  and  a  most  particular  account  of  how 
he  had  dressed  the  hair  of  all  the  Edinburgh  celebrities 
in  the  latest  fashion  for  the  last  big  ball. 

"  I'm  thinking,"  she  went  on  deftly,  "  that  the  new 
Sevigne  style  would  just  suit  madam,  if  she  will  allow 
me  to  try.  There  will  be  time  to  change  if  it  doesn't 
please." 

Five  minutes  later  Fantine  Le  Grand,  in  pink  wrapper, 
was  watching  in  the  glass  Marrion' s  fingers  curling  and 
twisting  and  combing  and  puffing.  And  Marrion  was 
watching  the  glass  also,  a  half  inherited,  half  acquired 
perception  of  what  was  beautiful  and  becoming  aiding 
her  lack  of  practice. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Fantine  delighted,  when  Marrion 
stepped  back,  her  task  completed,  "  you're  an  artist !  It 
makes  me  look  ten  years  younger.  You  must  come 
with  me."  She  paused  and  gave  a  little  conscious  laugh. 
?  Anyhow,  you  are  much  better  than  Josephine,  and  so 
I  shall  tell  Captain  Muir." 

Apparently  she  did,  for  Marrion,  meeting  him  by 
chance  that  evening  on  the  stairs,  had  to  draw  back  from 
his  outstretched  hand. 

"Hang  it  all,"  he  said,  almost  boisterously,  "I  forgot 
you  were  a  servant  here !  Do  you  ever  forget  your  p's 
and  q's,  I  wonder  ?  I  wish  you  would  sometimes.  Any- 
how, you  have  made  her  look  quite  divine,  and  she 
says  she  means  to  ask  you  to  take  the  place  per- 
manently." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  her?  replied  Marrion,  accenting  the 
pronoun ;  but  Marmaduke  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  it. 


MARMADUKE  79 

Only  that  afternoon  he  had  had  his  final  attack  on  his 
father's  purse-strings,  and  had  come  down  to  the  library 
where  Jack  Jardine  and  Peter  were  smoking,  white  with 
rage. 

"  It's  all  up  !"  he  said.  "  The  old  man— I'll  never  call 
him  father  again — insulted  me  beyond  bearing." 

"I  warned  you,  Duke,"  began  Peter;  "he  isn't  half 
recovered  yet." 

"And  do  you  think  I've  got  time  to  waste  until  my 
precious  parent  takes  enough  colchicum  and  nitre  to  kill 
a  horse,  all  because  he  guzzles  and  swills?  No.  As  I 
told  him,  Pringle  won't  wait  over  the  week,  so — so  I'm 
making  other  arrangements.  I  shall  have  to  ask  you, 
Jack,  to  raise  two  hundred  pounds  to  clinch  the  bargain 
when  I  meet  Pringle.  I  don't  know  how  the  devil  you 
do  it,  but  you  always  do." 

"  Yes,  I  always  do,"  assented  Jardine  a  trifle  wearily; 
"  but  you  know,  Duke,  it  would  be  wiser  to  raise  the 
two  thousand  pounds  at  once  and  have  done  with  it. 
If  Pitt  and  Peter  here  were  to  join  in  a  post  obity  and  I 
were  to  back  it " 

"Thanks!"  said  Marmaduke  curtly.  "I  only  asked 
for  two  hundred  pounds,  and  you  can  put  that  in  the  bill, 
can't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  assented  Jardine  again  wearily,  "  I  can  put  it 
in  the  bill." 

When  Marmaduke  had  gone  out  of  the  room  Peter 
crossed  over  to  the  fire  and  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  has  got  in  his  head,"  he  remarked 
thoughtfully.  "  It's  something  to  do  with  Fantine,  alias 
Fanny  Biggs,  I'm  sure." 


80  MARMADUKE 

"  Fantine  ?"  echoed  Jack  Jardine.  "  Why,  of  course, 
anyone  can  see  that  Marmaduke  has  been  trying  to  get 
to  the  right  side  of  her.  I  advised  him  to  do  so.  And 
she,  of  course — by  that  scoundrel  Compton's  advice,  I 
expect — has  been  trying  to  make  the  peer  jealous  in 
order  to  get  rid  of  Marmaduke !" 
Peter  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Look  here,  Jack,  you're  excellent  as  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, but  you're  a  mole  with  women,  you  old  bachelor  !  I 
could  tell  you  a  thing  or  two,  but  I  won't — it's  too 
amusing."  And  he  strolled  out  of  the  room  chuckling 
to  himself. 

Over  in  the  keep-house,  Marrion  Paul  felt  that  she, 
also,  could  tell  a  thing  or  two,  even  after  the  brief  experi- 
ence of  being  maid  to  Fantine  Le  Grand ;  but  she  did  not 
find  it  amusing.  On  the  contrary,  it  sent  her  about  her 
new  work  with  a  frown  in  her  eyes  that  were  keen  for 
every  sign. 

The  day  had  been  a  troublous  one.  The  old  peer,  up 
for  the  first  time,  had  been  so  irritable  that  the  whole 
household  was  upset.  Fantine  Le  Grand,  indeed,  coming 
up  for  her  usual  late  afternoon  rest,  had  professed  herself 
so  outwearied  by  a  protracted  penance  in  milord's  pri- 
vate room  that  she  bade  Marrion  give  her  a  double  dose 
of  her  sleeping  draught  and  tell  the  butler  she  was  not 
coming  down  to  dinner.  She  would  have  a  dainty  little 
supper  in  her  boudoir  at  ten  o'clock,  and  till  then  did  not 
wish  to  be  disturbed.  Being  thus  set  free,  Marrion  was 
going  home  when,  as  she  passed  the  stairway  leading 
to  the  room  which  Marmaduke  had  occupied  and  where 
Andrew  Fraser  still  kept  some  of  his  master's  spare 
things,  she  heard  a  noise  as  of  someone  shifting  boxes. 


MARMADUKE  81 

Running  up  to  see  what  it  was,  she  found  Andrew  busy 
packing  up. 

"Aye,  we're  awa'  the  morn's  morn,"  he  replied  cheer- 
fully to  her  query,  "  and  blythe  am  I  that  the  finest  gen- 
tleman in  the  Queen's  army  will  run  no  more  danger  o' 
bein'  ruined  by  a  whore-woman  and  an  auld,  auld  man, 
as  s'ould  be  thinkin'  o'  his  grave  an'  the  Last  Day." 

Despite  a  sudden  catch  at  her  heart,  his  hearer 
acquiesced  calmly. 

"Aye,  it's  well  he's  goin  !     But  where  is  it  to  ?" 
"  To  Edinbro'.     He's  an  appointment  tae  meet  Major 
Pringle  the  morrow's  morn  aboot  the  exchange." 

"  An'  when  he's  comin'  back  ?"  asked  Marrion  sharply. 
"  I  heard  no  tell  o'  returnin',  and  I'm  thinkin'  not.     Ye 
see  the  exchange  he  tell't  me  was  settled  into  the  auld 
regiment." 

"  Then  his  father "  she  interrupted. 

Andrew  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  no  the  auld  lord.  They  had  just  a  fearfu'  stramash 
aboot  it.  It  will  be  Jack  Jardine  again,  puir  fallow ! 
He  always  manages  it  somehow.  Well,  he'll  hae  his 
reward  at  the  Judgment,  though  I'm  thinkin'  he'll  hae  to 
wait  till  then  for  a  reckoning." 

"Maist  o'  us  have  to  do  that,  Andry,"  said  Marrion 
grimly,  and  then  her  face,  looking  into  the  hard,  honest, 
homely  face  before  her,  softened;  "an'  you,  abune  all, 
abune  all,  my  lad,"  she  added,  as  she  went  on  her  way. 

Andrew  Fraser  hesitated  for  a  second,  then  followed 
fast. 

"  Thank  ye  for  that,  my  dear,"  he  said  hoarsely  at  the 
foot  of  the  stairway,  "  it  makes  it  easier.  An'  I'll  wait — 
aye,  I'll  wait  till  then,  never  fear,  Marrion  !" 

6 


82  MARMADUKE 

His  outstretched  hand  was  in  hers  as  they  stood  gazing 
into  each  other's  eyes,  his  very  love  forgot  in  the  flood  of 
friendship  which  surged  through  their  hearts  and  brains, 
when  Miss  Margaret  Muir,  fresh  from  an  afternoon  among 
the  rocks  with  her  gallant  little  parson,  came  whistling 
and  calling  to  her  dogs  through  the  keep-gate.  She  had 
spent  so  many  long  years  of  her  life  without  one  touch  of 
glamour  and  romance  that,  now  it  had  come  to  her  at  last, 
the  whole  world  seemed  transfigured  into  a  place  full  to 
the  brim  of  lovers  and  their  lasses.  So  in  an  instant  the 
sight  of  those  two  set  her  becking  and  smiling. 

"Good  luck  to  you  both!"  she  called.  "Good  luck, 
good  luck  !  After  all,  Marrion,  you  see  you  will  be  ask- 
ing Mr.  Bryce  to  get  you  cried." 

Andrew,  shamefaced  and  confused,  escaped  up  the 
stairs,  but  Marrion  stood  her  ground  boldly. 

"  There'll  be  scant  time,  Miss  Marg'ret,"  she  said,  not 
without  some  scorn,  "  for  Andrew  is  away  with  his  master 
the  morn,  and  Captain  Duke  says  he  will  not  be  coming 
back." 

Her  hearer  turned  visibly  pale.  Ever  since  the 
rencontre  on  the  rocks  Margaret  had  been  haunted  by  a 
fear  lest  Marmaduke  should  break  the  half-formulated 
compact  of  mutual  silence.  And  now  this  news  of  his 
unexpected  departure  sent  a  thousand  wild  conjectures 
to  her  mind.  Had  he  quarrelled  with  his  father  over  the 
woman  ?     Had  he  in  revenge  told 

"  Going  away  !"  she  gasped.  "  I  didn't  know.  Surely 
it's  very  sudden  !     Why  ?     Can  my  father  have  found 

out  about  Mdlle.  Le  Grand "     Then  realising  her 

slip,  she  went  on  hurriedly,  "  But  it  is  all  nonsense  about 
Duke's  saying  he  will  not  come  back.     The  boys  always 


MARMADUKE  83 

say  that  when  there  is  a  quarrel ;  but  father  forgets,  and 
so  do  they,  as  you  know  quite  well,  Marrion.  And  it's 
only  right  that  it  should  be  so,  for  after  all  he  is  their 
father,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Aye,  Miss  Marg'ret,"  replied  Marrion  gravely,  "my 
Lord  Drummuir  is  the  present  holder  o'  the  barony,  an* 
Captain  Marmaduke  is  the  heir  to  it  if  the  Master  has  no 
son;  so  that  settles  it  outright." 

Margaret  Muir  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  wistful 
surprise. 

"  You  put  things  very  plain,  Marrion,"  she  said,  "  but 
you  always  were  a  sensible  girl ;  and,  being  what  you  are, 
your  grandfather's  granddaughter — you — you  belong  to 
Drummuir,  as  it  were." 

When  she  had  passed  on  whistling  and  calling  to  her 
dogs,  Marrion  Paul  stood  echoing  those  last  words  in  her 
heart.  Yes,  she  belonged  to  Drummuir;  but  over  and 
above  that  inherited  loyalty  there  was  a  passion  of  pro- 
tection for  Duke  himself.  He  must  not  be  harmed  in  any 
way. 

Was  there  indeed  anything  between  him  and  the 
painted  woman  she  was  serving  ? 

Before  she  wakened  her  for  the  dainty  supper  at  ten 
o'clock  that  evening  Marrion  stood  looking  at  the  sleep- 
ing face,  all  its  charm  of  esfieglerie  gone,  the  mouth 
cruel,  the  lines  about  the  eyes  hard  and  set. 

No,  whatever  came,  that  woman  should  not  have  the 
spoiling  of  Duke's  life !  Not  that  there  could  be  much 
fear  since  he  was  leaving  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  IX 

No  danger ! 

The  thought — such  an  ill-considered  thought,  it 
seemed — recurred  to  Marrion  Paul  as  she  held  a  slip  of 
crumpled  paper  in  her  hand  and  read  its  slight  contents 
over  and  over  again. 

She  had  found  it  on  the  floor  of  the  room  where  An- 
drew Fraser  had  packed  up  his  master's  spare  things. 
There  had  been  heaps  of  other  papers  on  the  floor,  when, 
during  the  time  that  Fantine  Le  Grand  was  on  duty  with 
the  old  lord,  Marrion,  more  to  still  thought  than  from 
necessity,  had  set  herself  the  task  of  clearing  up  and 
making  tidy ;  but  this  one  showed  her  Duke's  handwrit- 
ing, and,  half  mechanically,  she  had  reached  down  to 
pick  it  up.  And  then?  Women,  as  a  rule,  have  not 
nearly  so  hard  and  fast  a  rule  of  conventional  honour  as 
men  on  such  points,  so  she  had  smoothed  it  out  and 
read — 

Evidently  a  memorandum  made  to  help  out  a  memory 
excellent  in  its  way,  but  random,  careless. 

"Write  for  rooms  at  Cross-keys.  Order  trap  from 
Crow;  9.30,  copse  by  avenue  gate." 

She  drew  in  her  breath  and  considered,  her  thoughts 
punctuated  by  the  rapid  beating  of  her  heart. 

The  Cross-keys  ?  That  was  the  inn  where  the  south 
coach  stopped,  and  where  the  ferry  road  branched  off; 

84 


MARMADUKE  85 

she  could  almost  see  it  from  her  window  across  the 
estuary  on  the  edge  of  the  moorland.  What  did  Marma- 
duke  want  with  rooms  there?  And  the  trap  from  the 
Crow?  That  was  the  little  inn  down  in  the  back  pur- 
lieus of  the  town.  For  whom  was  that  trap  wanted  ? 
And  why  not  order  from  the  big  posting  hotel  as  usual  ? 

Then  in  an  instant  a  solution  flashed  upon  her. 
Marmaduke  had  not  really  gone  by  the  afternoon  coach ; 
or,  if  he  had,  so  far,  was  to  return  that  night  to  the  Cross- 
keys,  and  the  trap  was  to  take  Fantine  Le  Grand  to  him 
by  the  bridge  road  ! 

The  beating  of  her  heart  steadied  itself.  She  folded 
up  the  paper  and  put  it  in  her  pocket,  her  vehement  de- 
termination, somehow  or  another,  to  frustrate  this  plan 
almost  forgotten  for  the  time  in  wonder  at  the  chance 
which  had  brought  to  her  this  knowledge. 

The  paper  must  have  fallen  out  of  the  pocket  of  some 
coat  Andrew  had  been  packing  up — how  easily  it  might 
not  so  have  fallen !  How  easily  she  might  not  have 
noticed  it !  A  facile  wonder  obscured  real  thought,  and, 
as  usual  in  such  sudden  crises,  concrete  determination 
hid  itself  under  one  general  determination  to  frustrate 
the  machinations  of  the  enemy,  if  possible.  She  did  not 
even  ask  herself  how  this  was  to  be  done;  all  she  told 
herself  was  that  it  must  be  done. 

So,  rousing  to  a  sense  that  afternoon  was  passing  to 
evening,  and  that  it  was  time  for  her  to  be  in  attendance 
at  the  castle,  she  went  thither,  feeling  vaguely  that  if  it 
was  necessary  to  kill  the  woman,  even  that  must  be  done, 
sooner  than  she  should  be  allowed  to  hamper  Marma- 
duke's  young  life. 

Fantine  Le  Grand  had  not  yet  come  up  from  her  daily 


86  MARMADUKE 

duty  of  amusing  Lord  Drummuir,  so  Marrion  mechani- 
cally began,  as  usual,  to  prepare  for  the  evening's  toilette, 
She  found  all  the  valuables  gone  from  the  jewel-case,  and, 
after  a  hasty  search,  discovered  them  in  a  tiny  valise, 
ready  packed  hidden  away  behind  laces  and  ribbons  in 
a  drawer. 

So  she  had  been  right.  Fantine  Le  Grand  meant  to 
give  them  the  slip.  Ere  she  had  time  to  consider  a  fret- 
ful voice  came  from  the  boudoir. 

"  Marrion,  Marrion  !  I  do  hope  the  girl's  there.  Just 
like  'em  if  she  isn't.  Ah,"  as  Marrion  appeared  at  the 
door,  "  for  heaven's  sake,  girl,  take  off  my  shoes  and  bring 
me  my  dressing-gown !  That  wretched  old  man  has 
worn  me  out.  I  shall  be  fit  for  nothing !  Oh,  lord,  it 
was  too  bad — nothing  would  please  him  !  What  o'clock 
is  it  ?  Six  o'clock  !  Good  gracious,  I  shall  hardly  have 
time  before  dinner  !  I  won't  go  down ;  there's  no  one  to 
go  down  for  now  Marmaduke's  gone.  Lord,  what  a 
relief  it  will  be !  Tell  them  to  bring  dinner  up  here  at 
eight  and  give  me  my  sleeping  drops.  Not  too  much, 
as  I  don't  want  to  sleep  too  long ;  but  I  have  such  a  head- 
ache, I  shan't  be  fit  for  anything  without  a  rest." 

Fantine  Le  Grand  did  not  see  her  attendant's  face. 
Had  she  done  so,  she  would  have  been  startled.  The 
colour  had  left  it,  every  feature  was  set  and  hard.  For 
she  had  found  the  clue.  Even  if  an  overdose  killed  the 
woman,  she  must  be  made  to  sleep  sound. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  she  replied,  "  but  a  rest  will  take  your 
headache  away,  I  hope." 

She  poured  out  the  narcotic  without  a  tremble, 
doubling  the  double  dose.  It  was  a  risk,  of  course ;  but 
risks  must  be  run. 


MARMADUKE  87 

"  That  is  very  strong — how  much  did  you  give  me  ?" 
asked  Fantine,  as,  with  a  sigh  of  content,  she  snuggled 
down  under  the  duvet. 

"Only  as  much  as  was  necessary,"  replied  Marrion 
steadily. 

Her  heart  was  hard  as  the  nether  millstone.  She 
waited  in  the  boudoir  till  the  soft  regular  breathing  told 
her  Fantine  was  asleep,  then,  giving  orders  in  passing 
that  her  mistress  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed,  she  made 
her  way  back  to  her  own  room  at  the  keep-house  in  order 
to  mature  further  plans.  In  this  she  was  hampered  by 
ignorance  as  to  what  she  had  to  frustrate.  It  would  have 
been  easy  to  walk  down  to  the  Crow  and  countermand 
the  trap,  but  for  aught  she  knew  to  the  contrary,  Marma- 
duke  might  be  awaiting  Mdlle.  Le  Grand  there;  so  she 
judged  it  better  to  adhere  as  far  as  possible  to  what  she 
did  know,  and  this  pointed  to  someone  taking  the  trap, 
as  ordered — whether  to  the  Cross-keys  or  not,  mattered 
little — and  meeting  Marmaduke.  The  very  idea  stirred 
her  blood  !  Of  course  she  must  do  it.  She  must  go  and 
beg  him — nay,  force  him  to  reconsider  an  action  which 
would  for  ever  ruin  him  with  his  father. 

The  colour  came  back  to  her  face,  the  light  to  her  eyes, 
with  this  decision,  and  her  mind  was  busy  at  once  with 
precautions. 

The  Cross-keys,  she  knew,  was  held  by  new  people  who 
would  not  be  likely  to  know  her;  still  she  must  do  her 
best  to  avoid  recognition.  To  begin  with  she  must  secure 
retreat.  She  looked  down  the  estuary,  then  at  low  tide, 
and  little  more  than  a  still  pool  with  a  faint  stream  in  it, 
and  saw  no  boat  at  the  further  side.  That,  however, 
could  easily  be  remedied.     The  castle  boat  lay  this  side, 


88  MARMADUKE 

and  it  would  not  take  her  half  an  hour  to  row  it  over  and 
swim  back. 

By  this  time  it  was  full  seven  o'clock,  the  shadows  were 
lengthening  and  everyone  at  the  castle  would  be  busy 
with  dinner.  Now  was  her  opportunity.  Ten  minutes 
afterwards  in  her  bathing  suit,  but  wrapped  in  her  plaid, 
and  with  a  lighted  lantern  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  for 
she  remembered  it  would  be  dark  on  the  return  journey, 
she  was  pulling  with  long  vigorous  strokes  to  the  little 
pier  of  seaweed-grown  slippery  rocks.  To  fasten  the 
boat  to  the  outermost  ring  on  the  shore,  so  that  she  could 
get  at  it  at  all  tides,  and  hang  the  lantern  over  the  bows 
as  a  guide  to  the  whereabouts,  did  not  take  her  long. 
That  done,  she  folded  the  plaid  away,  placed  it  in  the 
stern  sheets,  and  slipped  over  the  side  like  a  seal. 

So  much,  then,  was  done.  She  must  now  go  and  carry 
up  Fantine  Le  Grand's  supper  and  then  prepare  herself 
to  take  the  latter' s  place. 

She  was  relieved  to  find  all  well.  Fantine  lay  com- 
fortably snuggled  up,  very  dead  asleep  it  is  true,  but 
breathing  quietly  and  regularly,  and  Marrion,  with  a 
lighter  heart,  for  all  it  was  still  hard  as  the  nether  mill- 
stone, closed  the  door  on  her,  secure  that  no  interruption 
was  likely  to  come  from  that  side. 

And  now  to  disguise  herself  so  as  to  pass  muster  with 
the  driver  of  the  coach,  should  he  happen  to  be  an  ac- 
quaintance. This  was  easy  enough.  High  heels,  silk 
stockings,  a  little  lace,  a  furbelow  or  two,  and  a  big  black 
silk  cloak  go  far  in  semi-darkness,  and  all  these  were  to 
be  found  in  her  mother's  wardrobe. 

Having  time  to  spare,  indeed,  Marrion  spent  it,  half- 
veagerly,  half-reluetantly,  in  seeing  r;ow  near  she  coulcj 


MARMADUKE  89 

bring  herself  to  the  daintinesses  of  modern  fashion.  And 
she  so  far  succeeded  that,  as  she  went  away  from  the 
looking-glass,  her  face  showed  radiant,  as  of  a  girl  going 
to  her  first  ball.  Unconfessed,  the  thought  was  there 
that  Marmaduke  would  see  her  so,  possibly  in  the  dis- 
carded brocades  worn  by  his  own  mother  in  her  youth; 
anyhow,  in  the  garments  of  his  own  class. 

So,  with  the  ample  cloak  round  her,  its  hood  drawn 
over  the  shining  hair  piled  in  the  latest  fashion,  she  made 
her  way  to  the  copse  by  the  avenue  gate.  The  chariot 
with  two  horses  was  in  waiting ;  the  driver,  touching  his 
hat,  asked  if  there  was  no  luggage.  She  answered  no, 
stepped  in,  and  they  were  off.  Evidently  the  man  had 
his  orders,  for  they  skirted  the  town  and  crossed  the 
river  by  the  lower  and  older  bridge.  This  lengthened 
the  journey  by  some  two  miles;  so  much  the  better.  It 
would  be  quite  dark  by  the  time  they  arrived  at  the  Cross- 
keys.  Hitherto  Marrion's  mind  had  been  fully  occupied 
with  action.  Now,  in  this  hour's  drive,  she  had  time  to 
think  of  what  would  happen  when  she  met  Marmaduke, 
and  her  heart  sank  a  little.  Not  that  she  was  afraid  of 
him  or  of  herself,  but  it  was  all  so  strange,  so  unlike  real 
life.  Then  in  a  flash  came  the  memory  of  that  dawn-tide 
swim  of  theirs  !  That  was  not  common,  trivial,  every- 
day life  either.  They  two  had  somehow  the  trick  of 
escaping  from  that  sometimes.     Why  not  now  ? 

The  day  had  been  brilliantly  fine  and  warm,  but  with 
the  sun  setting,  clouds  had  gathered  and  lay  dark  and 
threatening  on  the  horizon,  though  the  moon  rode  unob- 
scured  high  in  the  heavens.  A  few  spots  of  heavy  rain 
fell  in  great  splashes,  and  the  bustling  landlady  of  the 
.Cross-keys,  as  she  came  to  the  door,  was  full  of  congratu- 


90  MARMADUKE 

lations  that  madam  had  escaped  the  thunderstorm  which 
was  evidently  brewing.  Meantime,  Captain  Muir,  who 
had  not  expected  his  lady  quite  so  soon,  was  away  in  the 
kennels  to  see  if  some  medicine  which  he — kindly  gentle- 
man— had  prescribed  for  a  puppy  ill  of  distemper  had 
bettered  the  poor  beastie ;  but  he  would  be  back  syne  and 
the  rooms  were  ready. 

This  was  a  relief  to  Marrion  as  it  ensured  that  their 
meeting  would  be  private ;  so  she  followed  the  landlady 
upstairs,  the  latter  asking  if  Mrs.  Muir  would  rather  a 
cup  of  tea,  or  to  go  to  bed  at  once,  since  she  would  have 
to  be  up  so  early  to  catch  the  first  coach  south. 

Marrion,  as  she  refused  both  suggestions,  felt  startled 
at  the  Mrs.  Muir.  Was  it  possible  that  there  was  to  be 
more  than  a  mere  intrigue?  In  Scotland  one  did  not 
pose  so  easily  as  married — unless  indeed  Marmaduke 
was  reckless — he  was  so,  often 

She  glanced  round  the  bedroom  into  which  she  was 
shown,  recognising  that  some  of  the  luggage  in  it  must 
be  a  woman's,  then  passed  into  the  sitting-room  adjoin- 
ing. The  fire  had  lately  been  lit,  doubtless  with  a  view 
to  a  sudden  chilliness  foretelling  the  coming  storm,  and 
the  flames  of  its  crackling  wood  danced  on  the  walls, 
making  the  two  lighted  candles  on  the  table  unneces- 
sary. Half  mechanically  she  blew  them  out,  and  with 
a  sombre,  almost  stern  face,  stood  watching  the  blazing 
sticks. 

Suddenly  a  cheerful  well-known  voice  rose  below. 

"The  puppy's  much  better,  Mrs.  McTavish.  What, 
my  wife  has  come  ?     That's  all  right." 

My  wife  !  For  an  instant  Marrion's  head  whirled. 
Was  she  too  late  ?     No.     Confused  memories  of  what  in 


MARMADUKE  91 

Scotland  constituted  an  irregular  marriage  sent  a  flood 
of  crimson  to  her  face  as  she  realised  that  Duke  had  all 
unwittingly  acknowledged  her  as  his  "  wife  "  before  wit- 
nesses. His  footsteps  coming  up  the  stairs  two  steps  at 
a  time  steadied  her ;  but  what  followed  shook  her  to  her 
very  foundations.  Unheeding  of  her  feeble  "Duke"  as 
he  opened  the  door,  he  was  across  the  room  holding  her 
in  his  arms  and  passionately  kissing  her  averted  face, 
her  neck,  her  hair. 

"  This  is  good,"  he  whispered.  "  Now  for  a  splendid 
honeymoon !" 

For  a  second  she  yielded;  then  she  wrenched  herself 
from  him  and  faced  him  fairly. 

1  "  You're  making  a  mistake,  Captain  Muir,"  she  said 
sharply,  "  I  am  only  Marrion  Paul." 

She  would  have  liked  to  add  "your  friend";  but  she 
dared  not.  At  the  moment  sfye  knew  she  was  far  more 
than  that. 

"  Marmie  !"  he  echoed  stupidly.     "  Marmie  !" 

At  first  he  was  too  surprised  for  more;  then  he  drew 
himself  up  and  stared  at  her  angrily. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here  ?"  he  said  at  last, 
adding  hastily,  as  possibilities  struck  him,  "  Did  she  send 
you  ?     Is  she  ill  ?" 

In  her  long  drive  the  girl  had  gone  over  and  over  the 
coming  interview,  settling  what  she  would  say,  but  the 
sudden  solicitude  of  his  tone  swept  all  her  preparations 
away.  Did  he  then  really  care  ?  If  so,  nothing  but  the 
naked  truth  would  be  any  use. 

"No,"  she  replied  calmly,  only  her  tightly  interlaced 
fingers  showing  the  tension  of  her  mind  and  body.  "  She 
is  quite  well.     I  gave  her  a  double  dose  of  her  sleeping 


92  MARMADUKE 

drops  to  prevent  her  coming.     I  came  instead  because  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

The  flickering  firelight  showed  sheer  anger  on  the 
young  man's  face — sheer  brutal  anger. 

"  Because  you  wanted  to  take  her  place,  eh  ?" 

She  gave  a  little  sort  of  sob.  What  would  she  not  have 
given  to  take  it  ?  The  very  intensity  of  her  desire  made 
her  pass  the  insult  by. 

"  It  is  no  use  being  angry,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  came 
to  try  and  make  you  hear  reason.  You  may  as  well 
listen.  She  can't  come  to-night,  and  surely,  meanwhile, 
we  can  sit  down  and  talk  it  over — as  friends  J" 

"We  used  to  be  friends,  I  admit,"  he  replied  coldly; 
"  but  if  you  are  going  to  presume  on  friendship  as  you 
appear  to  have  done,  the  sooner  the  farce  ends  the  better." 

For  all  that  he  sat  down,  his  bold  eyes  taking  in  every 
detail  of  her  altered  appearance. 

"  Your  dress  suits  you,"  he  jibed.  "I  suppose  you  put 
it  on  to " 

"  I  had  to  put  it  on,"  she  interrupted ;  "  I  had  to  pass 
muster.  I  didn't  want  to  set  the  town  talking.  You 
know,  as  well  as  I,  that  it  wasn't  easy — it  wasn't  pleasant." 

"  No  one  asked  you  to  do  it,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  won- 
der how  you  had  the — the  cheek !"  Then  suddenly  he 
laughed;  he  could  not  help  it.  The  whole  business 
tickled  him  and  his  eyes  took  on  a  certain  admiration. 
"  It  beats  cock-fighting,  my  dear,"  he  went  on.  "  No  one 
but  you  would  have  dared  to  do  it.  But  it  won't  do, 
Marmie.  You  don't  understand.  That  old  man — I 
won't  call  him  my  father,  Marmie — won't  give  me  the 
two  thousand  pounds  for  my  majority.  Fantine  Le 
Grand  has  shown  me  how  to  get  it,  and  I — < — "     He 


MARMADUKE  93 

paused ;  in  sober  truth  now  he  came  to  think  of  the  plan 
for  so  getting  it,  the  less  it  appealed  to  him. 

Marrion  waited  a  second,  then  said — 

"How?" 

There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  have  answered  her 
categorically,  but  he  did;  perhaps  at  the  back  of  his 
mind  was  a  desire  to  know  what  she  thought  of  it.  He 
gave  a  forced  laugh. 

"  We  are  to  dance  for  it.  Oh,  I  know  all  the  stuff  that's 
talked  about  dancing  men  and  women,  but  we  would  go 
abroad  !  I  should  get  leave  of  absence  for  six  months 
on  urgent  private  affairs,  and  no  one  would  be  a  bit  the 
worse." 

"You  would  !"  commented  Marrion  briefly. 

There  was  a  world  of  scornful  criticism  in  the  words. 

"Oh,  dash  it  all,"  cried  Marmaduke,  "a  man  can't 
always  ride  the  high  horse !  And  you've  put  me  in  the 
deuce  of  a  hole,  though  I  suppose  you  meant  well.  You 
see,  I  can't  wait  for  her  now,  as  I  must  see  Pringle  to- 
morrow; but  I  can  come  back  again,"  he  added  com- 
placently, "  and  I  will." 

"  Then  you  mean  to — to  marry — that  woman  ?"  put  in 
Marrion. 

He  rose  angrily  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the 
room.  In  sober  truth  once  more,  now  that  he  was  away 
from  Fantine  Le  Grand's  allurements,  he  had  begun  to 
wonder  if  he  were  not  paying  rather  dearly  for  his  two 
thousand  pounds. 

"  Of  course  I  do ;  it's  in  the  bond,  and  I'm  a  man  of 
my  word.  And  you've  no  right  to  call  her  that  woman. 
She  is  far  better  than  you  think,  and  I  am  very  fond  of 
her,  very  fond  of  her  indeed  !"     He  stopped  opposite 


94  MARMADUKE 

Marrion  with  a  certain  defiance.  The  blaze  of  the  fire 
had  died  down ;  it  was  almost  dark,  save  for  a  red  glow 
on  their  faces.  "  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  I  ought  to  be 
deucedly  angry  with  you,  Marmie ;  but  somehow  I'm  not, 
and  if  you  will  only  take  her  a  note  from  me " 

She  started  to  her  feet  passionately. 

"A  note !"  she  echoed,  her  voice  vibrating  with  scorn. 
"Oh,  Duke,  Duke,  sometimes  I  wonder  if  you  can  un- 
derstand ? — if  any  man  ever  understands  ?  I  came  here, 
risking  all,  everything  for  you ;  you've  been  the  sun  in  my 
heaven  ever  since  I  can  remember;  you've  always  been 
something  very  bright  and  very  far  away  that  is  not 
to  be  touched  or  harmed.  Yes,  I  come  here  to  beg  you 
not  to  ruin  yourself  body  and  soul,  and  you  ask  me  to 
take  a  note !" 

A  sudden  flash  of  lightning  from  the  storm,  now  nigh 
at  hand,  lit  up  the  room  for  a  second,  and  showed  her  to 
him  standing  white  and  rigid  like  some  accusing  angel. 

"  You  say  you're  fond  of  her,  but  you're  not.  I  tell 
ye  you're  no  fond  of  her,  Duke ;  ye  ken  na  what  love  is — 
an'  I  do — for  I  love  the  verra  ground  you  tread  on,  the 
verra  things  you've  touched " 

Her  voice,  which  in  the  extremity  of  her  passion  had 
forgotten  its  acquired  accent,  failed;  she  sank  back  to 
her  seat,  and,  throwing  her  arms  out  over  the  table,  buried 
her  face  in  them. 

And  a  great  silence  fell  between  them,  man  and  woman. 

At  last  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  spoke 
humbly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Marmie;  I  did  not  understand- 
But  I'm  not  worth  it,  child.     Let  me  go  my  way " 

She  pulled  herself  together. 


MARMADUKE  95 

"  It's  time  I  was  going  home,"  she  said,  unsteadily. 

"  You  can't  go  in  this  storm,"  he  put  in  relieved,  as  all 
men  are,  that  the  mental  storm  was  over,  "  you'd  better 
stop  here  for  the  night.  I " — he  went  to  the  fire  and  de- 
liberately lit  the  candles,  as  if,  with  their  light,  to  bring 
things  back  to  normal  again — "  I — I'll  find  a  bed  some- 
where, and  you  can  stop " 

Marrion  interrupted  him  hastily. 

"  No,  no,  I  must  go !  Folk  will  wonder.  The  boat 
is  on  this  shore.     I  can  easily  slip  over." 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

*It's  raining  cats  and  dogs;  you  can't  go!"  he  said 
masterfully.  "You  stop  here  like  a  good  girl,  and  I'll 
go  and  settle  up  something  for  myself." 

He  left  the  room  and  for  one  second  she  stood  irreso- 
lute. Should  she  stop  ?  He  had  called  her  his  wife, 
would  doubtless  call  her  so  again  to  the  landlady,  and 
if  she  stopped — if  she  stopped 

Then,  with  a  little  sob,  she  caught  up  her  cloak  and 
ran  downstairs.  The  night  was  dark,  but  the  moon 
shone  fitfully  between  rifts  in  the  clouds.  The  rain, 
coming  in  gusts  with  the  wind,  had  ceased  for  a  moment. 
She  drew  the  hood  of  her  cloak  over  her  head  and  ran 
swiftly  past  the  lighted  windows  of  the  bar,  thinking  she 
had  escaped;  but  a  moment  after  she  heard  swift  steps 
following  her  own  and,  turning  to  look,  saw  Marmaduke, 
hatless,  coatless,  in  pursuit. 

The  instinct  of  the  chase  awoke  in  her  in  a  second ; 
she  doubled  off  the  white  road  behind  the  shelter  of  a 
low  beech  copse. 

"  Marmie,  Marmie,  stop,  I  tell  you  !  Don't  be  a  little 
fool!" 


96  MARMADUKE 

Easy  to  say  that.  But  it  was  he  was  the  fool,  not  she. 
If  she  kept  in  such  cover  as  there  was  she  might  reach 
the  boat  before  him — she  must !  In  the  old  days  she  had 
run  as  quick  as  he;  and  she  knew  where  the  boat  was 
and  he  didn't. 

She  tucked  her  petticoats  high  above  the  knee  like  any 
Leezie  Lindsay  and  ran  as  for  dear  life.  If  she  had 
failed  in  her  mission — and  had  she  ? — she  would  not  fail 
here.  That  last  double  had  been  successful.  His  cry  of 
"Marmie,  Marmie,  don't  be  so  foolish,  dear!"  sounded 
quite  far  off — like  the  wail  of  a  plover. 

Now  it  came  nearer.  Perhaps  he  had  seen  the  lantern 
she  had  left  to  guide  her  own  steps  to  the  boat.  If  so, 
she  had  no  time  to  lose,  as  he  would  make  straight  for  it, 
and  so  must  she,  forsaking  the  bend  to  avoid  a  peat  bog, 
and  braving  the  moss  hags  even  in  the  dark.  Anyhow, 
she  was  lighter  than  he,  and  would  not  sink  so  deep; 
though,  after  the  long  spell  of  fine  weather,  the  bog  could 
not  be  very  bad.  And  this  was  the  worst  part  of  it. 
With  the  ease  of  long  practice  she  jumped  lightly  from 
hag  to  hag,  sparing  no  time  to  look  round  for  the  figure 
behind  her,  though  she  knew  it  must  be  perilously  near ; 
for  that  instinct  of  the  chase  was  as  strong  in  him,  per- 
haps stronger,  than  it  was  in  her.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  her  eye  was  bright,  her  heart  beat  high,  despite 
her  breathlessness,  and  she  knew  that  his  did  so  also. 
Briefly  they  had  both  forgotten  everything  save  their 
determination  to  have  their  own  way. 

"Marmie,  you  little  devil,  stop,  I  tell  you  !"  came  his 
voice  close  behind  her.  Then  a  splash,  a  loud  "  damna- 
tion," told  her  that  he  had  missed  his  hag. 

That  would  give  her  time.     She  redoubled  her  speed, 


MARMADUKE  97 

raced  to  the  shore,  and,  not  pausing  to  unfasten  the  boat, 
waded  through  the  water,  almost  swimming  the  last  bit, 
to  where  it  rode  at  anchor  on  the  outgoing  tide.  Clam- 
bering over  the  side  she  set  to  work  at  once  to  unknot  the 
rope  from  the  bow-ring.  Not  a  second  too  soon,  for 
Marmaduke,  afer  a  minute's  delay,  due  to  his  flounder 
and  an  unavailing  search  for  the  shore  ring,  had  found  it. 

"Got  you  !"  he  cried  joyfully,  but  he  spoke  too  soon. 
The"  rope,  undone,  gave  easy  way  to  his  strong  pull,  and 
the  boat,  with  Marrion  laughing  in  the  bows,  drifted 
slowly  out  from  the  shore. 

He  stood  looking  at  her,  the  useless  rope  in  his  hand. 
By  the  light  of  the  moon,  now  riding  serene  overhead 
(for  the  brief  summer  storm  had  passed  the  zenith  and 
now  lay  to  the  south,  a  dense  bank  of  black  quivering 
every  now  and  again  with  throbs  of  summer  lightning), 
he  could  see  her  tall  and  white,  for  her  cloak  had  long 
since  been  flung  aside,  and  heart-whole  admiration  pos- 
sessed him. 

"  Marmie,"  he  cried,  "  hold  up — or,  by  God,  I'll  swim 
after  you.     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

She  took  an  oar,  stopped  her  way  by  holding  on  to 
one  of  the  submerged  seaweed-covered  rocks  of  the  boat- 
pier  and  waited. 

"  Why  did  you  run  away  ?     Why  wouldn't  you  stop  ?" 

She  gave  him  the  truth  squarely  and  fairly. 

"  Because  I  should  have  passed  as  your  wife,  and  if  I 

had  chosen  I  might "     She  hesitated,  and  he  relieved 

her  by  a  low  whistle. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said  slowly,  almost  absently.  "I 
didn't  think  of  that,  but" — he  hesitated,  in  his  turn — 
"but  I  thought,  Marmie,  you  said  you — you  loved  me !" 

7 


98  MARMADUKE 

His  voice  lingered  and  lowered  in  altogether  distracting 
fashion. 

She  turned  hastily  to  the  other  oar,  and  let  the  blade 
drop  into  the  water  with  a  splash. 

"  Aye,"  she  said,  "  that's  why  !  For  see,  you — you've 
got  to  be  Lord  Drummuir !" 

Her  words  silenced  him.  He  watched  her  scull  away, 
a  dark  shadow  in  the  darkling  water.  Then  his  voice 
rang  out  to  her  as  it  were  from  very  far  off. 

"Flash  the  light  to  me,  Marmie,  dear,  when  you  get 
to  the  other  side.     I'll  wait  till  I  see  you're  safe." 


CHAPTER  X 

BROAD  sunlight  showed  through  the  chinks  of  the  drawn 
curtains  when  Fantine  Le  Grand  awoke.  She  lay  yawn- 
ing for  a  minute  or  two,  content  to  be  still  drowsy.  Then 
memory  returned,  and  she  was  out  of  bed  in  a  second  and 
at  the  window.  The  lawns  lay  dewy,  a  late  blackbird 
was  tugging  away  at  an  inadvertent  worm,  and  shrill  on 
the  morning  air  rose  the  sound  of  Davie  Sim's  pipes 
playing  "  Hey !  Johnnie  Cope,  are  ye  waukin*  yet  ?"  as 
he  came  up  from  the  keep  to  strut  through  the  corridors 
of  the  castle.  It  must  be  eight  o'clock  !  And — what  had 
happened  ?  How  had  she  come  to  sleep  so  long  ?  She 
passed  swiftly,  being  quick  of  thought,  to  the  dressing- 
table  and  took  up  the  bottle  of  sleeping  drops.  It  was 
half  empty. 

Almost  before  she  had  time  to  realise  this,  and  what 
it  might  possibly  mean,  a  knock  came  to  the  door,  and 
Marrion  Paul,  opening  it,  came  into  the  room  with  a  can 
of  hot  water. 

She  had  been  there  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  to 
satisfy  herself  that  all  was  right,  so  she  was  not  surprised 
to  see  Fantine  Le  Grand  on  foot.  The  look  on  the 
latter' s  face,  however,  the  bottle  in  her  hand,  gave  warn- 
ing of  what  was  to  come,  and  it  came  instantly  short 
and  sharp,  for  Fantine  had  plenty  of  wit. 

"  Why  did  you  give  me  what  you  did  ?"  she  asked 
imperiously. 

99 


100  MARMADUKE 

Marrion  Paul  set  down  the  water-can  and  faced  her. 

"Because  I  wanted  to  prevent  you  from  joining 
Captain  Muir  at  the  Cross-keys,"  she  replied  quietly. 
It  was  waste  of  time,  she  felt,  to  beat  about  the  bush  with 
this  woman,  the  solid  truth  was  her  best  weapon. 

It  proved  so  for  the  moment.  Fantine  utterly  taken 
aback  retired  into  personal  injury. 

"  You  might  have  killed  me,"  she  began,  almost 
whimperingly. 

"  Maybe,"  interrupted  Marrion,  "  but  I  had  to  risk  it — 
an*  it's  no  hurt  you " 

A  sense  of  outrage  came  to  her  victim. 

"  Not  hurt  me,  indeed  !  And  why  had  you  to  risk  it  ? 
Are  you  Captain  Muir's  keeper  ?  His  mistress  you  are, 
of  course ;  but  if  you  think  you've  succeeded  you're  very 
much  mistaken.  I  shall  join  him  by  the  coach  to-morrow 
instead  of  to-day.  And  you  may  thank  your  stars  that, 
as  I  don't  want  any  fuss  just  now,  you'll  get  scot  free  of 
your  attempt  to  murder  me.  Now  go  !  I  never  want  to 
see  your  face  again.  Josephine  will  manage  somehow, 
I've  no  doubt." 

She  pointed  to  the  door,  and  Marrion,  going  down  the 
wide  stairs,  felt  relieved  that  that,  at  least,  was  over. 
The  interview  also  had  given  her  a  clue  as  to  what  must 
be  her  next  step.  Mdlle.  Le  Grand  had  said  that  fuss 
would  be  inconvenient;  for  that  reason,  therefore,  a  fuss 
must  be  made.  Hitherto  she  had  hesitated  between 
taking  a  further  and  still  more  active  part  in  stopping  the 
intrigue,  or  leaving  the  matter  to  Marmaduke's  own  good 
sense,  which,  removed  from  Fantine's  personal  influence, 
might  surely  be  trusted.  He  could  not  want  to  marry  the 
woman.     It  was  the  two  thousand  pounds  he  wanted. 


MARMAJDvUK-fi  101 

Marrion  on  her  way  to  the  keep-house  made  up  her  mind 
to  risk  everything  by  an  appeal  to  the  old  lord ;  it  would, 
at  any  rate,  put  a  spoke  in  the  woman's  wheel  for  a  time, 
and  prevent  her  getting  away  to  Marmaduke  at  once; 
it  wtould,  at  any  rate,  make  a  fuss. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  more  fuss  was  facing  Marrion  than 
she  had  bargained  for,  since  the  first  thing  she  saw  on 
entering  the  keep-house  was  her  step-grandmother  seated 
at  the  table  sipping  a  cup  of  tea  she  had  just  made  for 
herself. 

It  was  an  unpleasant  surprise,  as  she  had  not  been 
expected  home  so  soon,  and  Marrion  bit  her  lip  with 
vexation  at  the  sight  of  her.  After  laying  elaborate  plans 
to  avoid  even  the  sight  of  one  she  despised  and  detested, 
it  was  bitter  to  find  her  established  as  mistress  in  the 
house.  So  anger  kept  her  silent  and  Mrs.  Sim,  whilom 
Penelope  of  the  castle,  said  no  word  either.  She  simply 
rose  theatrically  and  stretched  a  dramatic  finger  across 
the  table.  So  standing  she  showed  like  a  wide  ex- 
tinguisher, the  knob  of  which  was  formed  by  her  head. 
This  was  still  small  and,  so  far  as  the  upper  part  of  the 
face  was  concerned,  unmarred  by  fat,  but  obesity  began 
on  the  double  chin  and  went  on  increasing  from  shoulder 
to  waist,  from  waist  to  hip,  till  the  flounce  of  a  wide  petti- 
coat completed  the  base  of  the  triangle.  Her  hair  of 
bright  orange-red  was  untouched  by  grey,  and  the  china- 
blue  of  her  hard  eyes  startled  you  by  the  intensity  of  their 
colour  in  a  face  otherwise  somewhat  tallowy. 

"  Ye  hizzie  !"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  deep  contralto  voice. 
"  I  wonder  ye  have  the  face  to  stan'  there  disgracin'  the 
honest  hearth  o'  an  honest  man !  Awa  wi'  you,  ye  bag- 
gage, afore  yer  faither  comes  to  beat  you  frae  the  door." 


102  M  A  SM;A  DUKE 

Marrion  had  stood  with  open  mouth  before  this 
sudden  onslaught;  now  she  recovered  herself  and  said 
haughtily — 

"  I  do  not  understand."  In  her  heart  of  hearts,  how- 
ever, she  told  herself  that  this  woman  knew  of  last  night's 
happenings. 

Penelope  Sim  gave  a  snort  and  sat  down  again  to 
sipping  her  tea. 

"  Div'  ye  no  understand  ?"  she  asked  scornfully. 
"  Then  111  tell  ye.  A  lassie  that  goes  tae  spend  the  night 
wi'  a  man  in  a  strange  hottle  is  no  ane  to  share  an  honest 
woman's  home.  An'  so  I'll  tell  yer  faither.  Shame  upon 
ye,  Marrion  Paul!" 

"  Perhaps  you'll  oblige  me,  Mrs.  Sim,  by  holding  your 
tongue,"  retorted  Marrion  superbly.  "  I  did  not  spend 
the  night  with  any  man,  and  if  you  say  I  did,  you  lie  !" 

"My  certy!"  cried  Penelope,  her  face  flaming.  "So 
I'm  a  liar,  am  I  ?  I  tell  you  I  saw  you  wi'  my  own  eyes 
at  the  Cross-keys " 

"  And  what  might  you  be  doing  there  ?"  put  in  Mar- 
rion.    "  No  good,  likely." 

Mrs.  Penelope's  voice  began  to  rise. 

"  I'm  no  goin'  to  bandy  words  wi'  you,  Marrion  Paul, 
ye're  no  worth  it.  But  here  comes  your  gran'faither ; 
give  your  lip  to  him,  if  ye  like.  Ye  sail  no  give  it  to  me, 
a  decent,  married  woman  ! " 

"Decent!"    echoed    Marrion    scornfully,    and    would 
have  gone  on  to  heaven  knows  what  of  indignant  criticism 
had  not  the  entry  of  her  grandfather  tied  her  tongue 
for  she  was  fond  of  him,  with  all  his  faults,  and  he  repre- 
sented to  her  the  only  family  life  she  had  ever  known. 

So  she  stood  defiant  as  Penelope  of  the  castle,  gloating 


MARMADUKE  103 

over  her  own  newly  acquired  propriety,  held  forth  on 
what  she  had  seen  from  the  bar-parlour  of  the  Cross- 
keys. 

"  Grandfather,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  know  me  better 
than  she  does.     Do  you  think  I  would  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  Ask  her,"  broke  in  the  shrilled  contralto  voice,  "  ask 
her,  gudeman,  if  she  was  at  the  Cross-keys  last  night. 
I  tell  you  she  was,  dressed  up  fine  like  a  lady — an'  the 
things  lyin'  yet  in  her  room,  for  I  went  to  see.  Aye,  ask 
her  if  she  was  there  wi'  a  young  spark — they  tell't  me  it 
was  Captain  Duke,  but  that  I'll  never  believe " 

"  You  may  believe  what  you  like ! "  put  in  Marrion 
fiercely.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  grandfather.  I 
was  at  the  Cross-keys  last  night,  and  I  did  see  Captain 
Duke,  but  it  was  no  harm  I  was  after." 

"Hark  to  her!"  shrilled  Penelope.  "She  was  there, 
and  for  no  harm  !  Out  o'  the  house  with  her,  Davie  Sim, 
or  your  wedded  wife  will  find  her  way  out  hersel\" 

Here  Davie  who,  man-like,  had  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  two  women,  uncertain  of  approbation  or 
reprobation,  shook  his  head  and  began  mumblingly — 

"  I  never  thocht,  Marrion,  to  praise  God  your  poor 
mother  is  in  her  grave,  but  if  she'd  lived  to  see  this 
day " 

"Leave  my  mother  alone,  please  grandfather,"  said 
Marrion,  passion  in  voice  and  manner.  "  If  you  choose  to 
judge  me  by  that  cast-off  creature,  do  so !  But  there's 
no  need  to  quarrel  about  it.  You  know  I  would  not  sleep 
under  the  same  roof  with  her — " 

"  Hark  to  her,  hark  to  her,  an'  me  as  gude  a  wife  as 
ever  stepped.  Are  ye  goin'  tae  put  up  wi'  that,  Davie 
Sim  ?"  whimpered  Penelope. 


104  MARMADUKE 

Once  more  the  master  of  the  house  looked  as  though 
he  would  speak,  but  a  wave  of  Marrion's  hand  stopped 
him. 

"  So  I  shall  leave  this  evening,  and  if  what  I've  done 
is  a  disgrace  to  you,  you  have  the  remedy  in  your 
own  hands — you  can  hold  your  tongues.  So  that 
ends  it !" 

She  made  her  way  past  them  and  up  the  stairs,  feeling 
a  trifle  dazed.  This  unlooked-for  recognition  complicated 
matters  for  herself;  but  did  not  alter  her  determination 
to  risk  all  in  order  to  get  Marmaduke  out  of  the  hands 
of  Fantine  Le  Grand. 

So  she  packed  up  her  things,  leaving  all  the  treasures 
of  her  childhood  and  her  mother's,  unlocked  in  drawers 
and  cupboards,  and  sitting  down  on  her  bed  by  the  win- 
dow took  her  last  look  out  over  the  rugged  coast  she  had 
watched  so  often  by  storm  and  shine,  by  night  and  by 
day.  And  as  she  looked  with  lack-lustre,  preoccupied 
eyes  her  thoughts  were  busy,  not  with  the  past  but  with 
the  new  life  that  was  opening  out  before  her ;  since,  come 
what  might,  she  realised  that  never  again  would  she  be 
simple  Marrion  Paul,  old  Davie  Sim's  granddaughter. 
To  begin  with,  if  she  knew  aught  of  Penelope,  reputation 
was  gone.  Women  of  that  sort  were  pitiless,  and,  in 
addition,  her  grandfather's  wife  desired  nothing  more 
than  to  make  Drummuir  and  all  belonging  to  it  an 
impossibility  for  her  step-granddaughter.  Then  she, 
Marrion  had  definitely  set  herself  the  task  of  defending 
Marmaauke,  and  heaven  only  knew  how  far  that  might 
take  her.  For  one  thing,  in  view  of  Penelope's  curiosity, 
she  must  make  sure  that  Marmaduke  had  not  left  any- 
thing incriminating  behind  him  at  the  Cross-keys.      It 


MARMADUKE  105 

would  'be  so  like  him  to  write  Captain  the  Honourable 
Marmaduke  Muir  and  Mrs.  Muir  in  the  visitors  book  ! 

The  idea  made  her  smile  tenderly,  even  while  she  took 
a  mental  note  that  it  must  be  seen  to. 

So,  going  down,  while  it  was  yet  early,  to  order  a 
handcart  to  take  her  slight  luggage  to  the  coach  office, 
she  came  upon  a  castle  stable-boy,  who  was  a  distant 
admirer  of  hers,  riding  to  the  Cross-keys  with  a  note. 

"  It's  frae  the  dancin'  woman,"  said  the  lad,  with  a 
broad  grin,  "  an'  she  guve  me  a  golden  soverin'  to  take  it 
quick;  an'  IVe  to  leave  anither  at  the  Crow." 

"  I  can  deliver  that  one,"  said  Marrion  cheerfully,  "  for 
I'm  goin'  yon  way." 

So,  note  in  hand,  she  made  her  way  to  the  Crow,  and 
by  a  dexterous  question  or  two  elicited  the  fact  that,  as  on 
the  previous  night,  a  carriage  was  ordered  to  be  in  wait- 
ing at  half-past  nine.  If  all  went  well,  therefore,  she 
might  hope  to  avail  herself  of  it.  She  did  not,  however, 
anticipate  exactly  what  she  meant  to  do — her  plans  were 
fluid,  so  much  depending  on  the  success  of  her  next  step. 
It  was  an  overwhelmingly  bold  one,  and  she  shivered 
visibly  as  she  sat  waiting  for  an  answer  to  her  request  to 
be  allowed  an  interview  with  his  lordship. 

"  I'm  right  sure  his  lordship  wad  see  me,"  she  pleaded 
with  Dewar,  the  valet,  who  in  common  with  all  the  men- 
servants  at  the  castle,  had  an  approving  eye  on  her  good 
looks,  "  did  he  ken  what  I  cam'  about ;  and  " — she  added, 
with  a  laugh  that  was  a  challenge — "  I'm  no  sae  ill-look- 
ing but  he  might  be  blythe  to  see  me  forbye  business." 

"  An'  that's  God's  truth,  my  dear,"  replied  Dewar  gal- 
lantly, "  sae  I'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

Fortune  favoured  him,  for  Fantine  Le  Grand  being  in 


106  MARMADUKE 

an  evil,  reckless  temper  had  just  sent  to  say  she  had  a 
headache  and  could  not  come  to  amuse  his  lordship,  who, 
up  and  dressed  to  receive  her  as  usual,  was  cursing  and 
swearing  at  womankind  in  the  abstract,  and  therefore, 
not  unwilling  to  have  a  concrete  specimen  on  which  to 
vent  his  ill-humour. 

Marrion  Paul,  consequently,  found  herself  without 
delay  facing  the  heavy  figure  in  the  big  padded  chair. 
One  foot  swathed  in  flannels  lay  on  a  leg-rest,  and  the 
large  hand  that  clasped  the  lion-head  knobs  of  the  arm- 
chair showed  swollen  and  disfigured  by  gout ;  still  there 
was  something  dignified,  almost  regal,  in  the  pose  of  the 
man;  while  his  face — Marrion,  despite  her  thumping 
heart,  as  she  looked  above  the  treble  chin  to  the  open 
forehead,  felt  that  here,  when  all  was  said  and  done, 
was  kinship  with  Marmaduke. 

And  she  for  her  part  pleased  the  old  man's  eye  also. 
She  had  not  dressed  herself  for  the  occasion,  but  stood  in 
her  usual  striped  petticoat  and  bed-gown  with  a  green 
tartan  shoulder  shawl  of  the  Muir  tartan  and  a  snood 
of  tartan  ribbon  to  match  in  the  red  bronze  coils  of 
hair. 

"  So  you're  Marrion  Paul  ?"  he  said,  his  keen  clear  blue 
eyes  taking  in  every  point  of  her  person.  "  I  haven't 
seen  you  to  speak  to  since  you  were  so  high.  You're 
a  devilish  good-looking  girl.  Come  and  give  me  a  kiss, 
my  lass." 

To  his  surprise,  amusement,  and  approval  she  stepped 
forward  instantly  and  obeyed.  The  touch  of  her  cool 
lips  on  his  seemed  to  stagger  him. 

"  Don't  object  to  kisses — hey  ?"  he  said,  as  she 
remained  standing  close  beside  him. 


MARMADUKE  107 

"Why  should  I,  Drummuir,"  she  replied  quietly, 
"  when  youVe  kenned  me  since  I  was  a  baby  in  arms." 

He  burst  into  one  of  his  guffaws  of  rough  laughter. 

"Hey?  What?  One  for  the  old  reprobate!  Sit 
down,  my  dear,  and  tell  me  what  you  want." 

"It's  about  Mr.  Marmaduke,  sir,"  she  began,  her  voice 
shaking  a  little. 

"  Hey  ?  What  ?  Has  that  young  devil  been — no,  I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  dear,  you're  not  that  sort.  Trust 
a  man  who's  kicked  over  the  traces  a  bit  to  know  an 
honest  horse  when  he  sees  one.  You  take  my  word  for 
it;  the  best  judge  of  a  good  woman  is  a  bad  man.  Well, 
what  of  Duke  ?" 

The  mere  abbreviation  of  the  name  was  encouraging. 
She  felt  that  to  attempt  a  bargain,  even  to  beg  for 
patience,  would  be  a  mistake.  She  simply  took  her  cour- 
age in  both  hands  and  told  him  all  she  knew.  He  sat, 
his  unwieldy  body  impassive  as  some  carven  image,  one 
strong  emotion  after  another  sweeping  over  the  mobile 
face  that  held  so  much  laughter  in  every  line  that  Time 
had  graven  on  it.  Only  once  or  twice  he  interrupted  her 
when,  fearing  she  was  too  lengthy,  she  began  to  cut  out 
details.  Then  his  quick  "Let's  have  it  all;  don't  you 
know,  you're  as  good  as  a  play.  Beat  the  immortal 
wizard  all  to  bits  !  Don't  skip  " — brought  her  back  to 
the  accessories  of  her  tale.  When  she  had  finished  he  sat 
and  looked  at  her  for  a  second. 

"  And  you  say  Duke  let  you  go  as  you  came  ?     Well, 

he  was  a  d d  young  fool ;  that's  all  I've  got  to  say  ! 

I  wouldn't  in  his  place.  Even  now — my  God,  what  a 
Lady  Drummuir  you'd  make,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  curse 
of  class !     I'll  turn  Socialist  before  I  die."     He  paused, 


108  MARMADUKE 

and  his  blue  eyes  narrowed.  "  Now,  why  have  you  come 
and  told  me  all  this  ?" 

She  had  her  answer  ready,  and  all  fear  o£  the  old  man 
having  vanished  she  gave  him  the  truth  boldly. 

"  Because  I  want  payment.  I've  put  it  into  your  power 
to  stop  Mdlle.  Fantine " 

His  whole  face  changed  in  a  second,  an  expression  of 
sheer  devilish  anger  took  possession  of  it. 

"You  leave  that  alone!"  he  thundered.  "I  can 
settle  that  business  for  myself/' 

It  was  the  first  mistake  she  had  made,  and  she  became 
more  wary. 

"  I  want  payment,"  she  went  on,  "  because  IVe  risked 
everything  for — for  Duke.  My  father's  turned  me  out 
of  his  house  and  Penelope " 

"  Damn  Penelope  !"  broke  in  his  lordship  complacently. 
"  Having  no  virtue  of  her  own,  she's  deuced  careful  about 
other  people's.  And  so  Duke  really  contemplated 
marrying  Fantine  in  order  to  make  two  thousand  pounds 
by  dancing.  Confound  the  boy  !  He  can  dance,  I'll 
allow ;  but  it  was  a  big  price  to  pay.  And  the  idea  of 
my  son  dancing  for  money  !  He  must  have  been  hard 
put  to  it,  even  to  entertain  the  idea."  He  bent  those  blue 
eyes  of  his  suddenly  on  her.  "  And  so  you  want  me  to 
give  Duke  the  two  thousand  pounds  myself,  do  you  ? 
Of  course  you  do  !  Trust  a  woman  who  is  in  love  asking 
for  the  moon."  He  paused  a  moment  and  gave  a  little 
laugh.  "  Heaps  of  women  have  asked  me  to  be  a  saint, 
my  dear,  but  I  never  could  compass  virtue.  However, 
you've  given  me  as  good  a  morning's  entertainment  as 
ever  I  had  in  my  life ;  and  what's  more  you've  given  me 
an  opportunity  of  as  fine  an  afternoon's  amusement." 


MARMADUKE  109 

Here  he  chuckled  wickedly,  then  added,  "Shall  I  give 
you  the  cheque  or  send  it  direct  ?" 

She  felt  staggered  at  his  indifference.  She  had  expected 
to  brave  his  anger  and  have  perchance  to  threaten  him 
with  what  she  knew  of  Fantine's  plans  for  the  evening; 
but,  here,  with  scarce  an  argument,  she  found  herself 
successful.  In  truth  she  had  not  gauged  accurately  the 
phenomenal  malice  as  well  as  the  almost  incredible  good 
nature  of  the  man. 

"  You  must  send  it,  my  lord,"  she  said  swiftly.  "  There 
is  no  need  to  say  anything  about  all  this." 

He  frowned  in  a  second. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  dictate  to  me,  my  good  girl  ?"  he 
asked  fiercely.  "  You'd  better  leave  the  business  in  my 
hands.  I'll  settle  it  to  my  own  satisfaction.  Come  back 
at  six  o'clock  and  you  shall  be  made  acquainted  with  my 
decision." 

He  rang  the  hand-bell  on  the  table  beside  him  and 
when  Dewar  entered,  said  carelessly  : 

"  Show  the  young  woman  out ;  and,  Dewar,  tell  Pene- 
lope to  come  and  see  me  at  two  o'clock.  And,  Dewar, 
send  a  message  to  the  Manse  and  tell  that  jackanapes 
of  a  parson  Bryce  that  I  want  to  confess  my  sins  or 
something  of  that  sort.  Tell  him  I'm  ill — dying,  if  you 
like — anything — and  I  want  him  as  soon  as  he  can  come. 
Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  replied  Dewar  discreetly,  though  he 
was  considerably  mystified;  but  everyone  in  the  castle 
knew  there  was  but  one  way  of  receiving  Lord  Drum- 
muir's  orders,  acquiescence  and  obedience. 


CHAPTER  XI 

An  hour  or  so  afterwards  Fantine  Le  Grand  coming  in 
from  a  ramble  on  the  rocks,  whither  she  had  gone  despite 
her  pretended  headache,  in  order  to  quiet  her  nerves  for 
what  she  foresaw  was  to  be  a  stand-up  fight  between  her 
and  Marrion,  found  old  Lord  Drummuir  in  possession 
of  her  boudoir.  He  was  in  his  wheeled-chair,  but  was 
looking  remarkably  spruce  in  a  blue  coat  with  brass  but- 
tons, an  immaculate  white  stock  and  frill,  and  his  gouty 
foot  was  swathed  in  kersey  to  match  the  breeches  he  wore. 
His  ruddy  face  was  all  smiles,  but  there  was  a  vicious 
look  in  the  blue  eyes  that  reminded  her  of  a  horse  about 
to  kick. 

And  kick  he  did  with  a  force  that  left  her  breathless. 

"  I've  come  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  we  are  going  to 
be  married  this  evening." 

She  recoiled  as  if  from  a  blow. 

"  Now,  don't  be  foolish  and  make  a  fuss,"  he  continued, 
as  she  gave  a  little  cry,  "  or  you  won't  look  well  in  your 
wedding-dress !"  So  far  he  had  gone  lightly;  but  now 
he  settled  down  to  a  decision  of  voice  and  manner  that 
was  positively  terrifying  to  the  woman  in  its  intensity. 
"  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  any  fuss,  and  I  know  everything. 
Marrion  Paul  told  it  me  from  start  to  finish,  and  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  more  about  it,  if  you  please!" 

The  mock  politeness  of  the  last  finished  her.  She  was 
ill-bred,  not  over  brave,  and  reverting  to  her  early  up- 

no 


MARMADUKE  111 

bringing  she  burst  into  a  torrent  of  abuse  of  the  viper, 
the  hussy  who  was  no  better  than  she  should  be,  who, 
if  Penelope  at  the  keep-house  was  to  be  believed — and  she 
had  seen  her  but  now — had 

So  far  Lord  Drummuir  had  let  her  storm;  now  he 
stopped  her  impatiently. 

"  I  know  what  Penelope  says,"  he  snarled,  "  and  I  shall 
be  sorry  for  her  when  she  hears  what  I  have  to  say.  And 
I  know  you,  Fanny,  down  to  the  ground.  You're  not  a 
bad  sort,  but  you  are  getting  old.  Look  in  the  glass,  you 
foolish  woman,  and  you'll  see  I'm  right.  But  you  suit 
me  and  I  mean  to  have  you.     There's  an  end  of  it." 

She  summoned  up  a  little  courage. 

"  And  supposing  I  won't !     I  am  a  free  woman." 

He  lowered  his  brows  and  his  words  cut  like  a  knife. 

"  Don't  tell  lies  !  You're  not  free.  You  think  I  paid 
your  debts.  I  wasn't  such  a  fool  till  I  had  you  fast. 
Look  here,  when  I  heard  all  about  this  midsummer  mad- 
ness with   Marmaduke  —  the  d d   impertinence  of 

trying  to  inveigle  my  son  into  posturing  at  the  Courts  of 
Europe  for  pennies  almost  made  me  give  you  your  conge> 
miss,  I  can  tell  you — I  sent  for  Compton.  You  think  I 
don't  know  what  he  is  to  you ;  but  I  do.  If  he'd  known 
of  this  business,  I'd  have  kicked  you  both  out.  But  he 
didn't,  poor  devil;  he  was  flabbergasted.  So  I  saw  it 
was  all  your  fault  and  I  determined  to  punish  you,  and 
I'm  going  to  do  it  my  own  way.  Now,  don't  look  like  a 
frightened  hare;  I  never  touched  a  woman  save  in  the 
way  of  kindness  all  my  life,  and  we'll  get  on  all  right  once 
we're  married ;  so  the  sooner  the  better." 

She  sat  and  looked  at  him,  dabbing  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief.     The  bald  truth  of  it  all  took  words  from 


112  MARMADUKE 

her,  and  her  one  feeling  was  that  she  could  cheerfully 
have  strangled  Marrion  Paul  for  her  courage  and  straight- 
forwardness. 

"My  wedding-dress  isn't  ready,"  she  sobbed  at  last 
futilely,  and  the  old  man  leant  back  in  his  chair  and 
roared  with  laughter. 

"  By  Gad,  Fan,"  he  bawled,  "  you're  a  woman,  and  no 
mistake ;  so  don't  make  those  eyes  of  yours  too  red  with 
crying.  Remember,  you're  not  .so  young  as  you  were. 
And  as  for  this  little  penchant  of  yours  for  Marmaduke, 
why,  God  bless  my  soul,  my  dear,  you've  had  dozens  such 
episodes,  and  so  have  I,  by  Gad,  so  we'll  suit  each  other 
down  to  the  ground.  Now,  if  you  will  please  ring  the 
bell  for  Dewar,  I'll  leave  you  to  prepare — six  o'clock 
sharp.  I've  told  the  gardeners  to  send  you  some  orange 
blossoms  from  the  houses  and  to  decorate  the  hall.  My 
daughters  will  be  your  bridesmaids." 

When  his  wheeled-chair  had  gone  the  effect  of  his 
brutal  determination,  his  colossal  masterfulness,  did  not 
pass  with  it.  That  remained,  and  Fantine  Le  Grand 
gave  in  to  it  helplessly.  The  old  man  had  said  very 
little ;  on  the  whole  he  had  been  wonderfully  polite,  but 
she  knew  she  was  trapped,  and  that  she  might  as  well 
try  to  fly  as  to  escape  from  his  watchful  eye,  his  unscru- 
pulous power. 

And,  after  all,  it  was  but  a  return  to  the  old  plans ;  so 
after  a  while  she  followed  Lord  Drummuir's  advice  and 
dried  her  eyes. 

"You  ought  to  think  yourself  deuced  lucky,"  growled 
Colonel  Compton,  when  he  came  in,  after  a  time  full  of 
alarm  and  recriminations.  "  If  anyone  had  told  me  the 
old  man  would  take  it  so  quietly  I  wouldn't  have  be- 


*      MARMADUKE  113 

lieved  it.  I  expected  he  would  have  kicked  us  both  out 
into  the  gutter,  and  then  where  should  we  be  ?  And  such 
a  mad  idea,  too  !  The  Honourable  Marmaduke  Muir 
as  a  public  dancer — preposterous  !" 

"  It  would  only  have  been  for  six  months  and  under  an 
assumed  name,"  interrupted  Fantine  defiantly;  but  all 
initiative  was  passing  from  her.  She  felt  like  clay  in 
the  hands  of  the  potter.  • 

"Twaddle!"  insisted  Colonel  Compton.  "I  can  only 
think  you  were  insane.  The  fact  is,  my  dear  Fanny, 
you're  getting  old  and  your  ankles  wouldn't  stand  the 
hacking  about  of  a  dancer's  life.  That  is  why  we  agreed 
on  your  becoming  Lady  Drummuir,  and  you  ought  to  be 
very  much  obliged  to  the  old  man  for  letting  you  off  so 
easily." 

This,  combined  with  the  reiterated  allusions  to  her  age, 
was  too  much  for  patience.  Fantine  jumped  up  and 
stamped  her  foot  in  impotent  anger. 

"  Easily  ?"  she  echoed.  "  Can't  you  see  the  malice  of 
the  man  ?  He  is  making  us  all  feel  fools.  He  is  doing 
all  the  harm  he  can.  I  tell  you  he  is  enjoying  himself 
thoroughly." 

She  was  perfectly  right.  Lord  Drummuir  had  not  felt 
so  young  for  years.  At  that  moment,  after  disposing  of 
Penelope  in  a  way  that  reached  the  very  marrow  of  the 
unseen  bones  hidden  under  that  extinguisher  of  fat,  he 
was  facing,  with  a  special  licence  in  his  hand,  the  dapper 
little  figure  of  the  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce,  who,  called 
on  some  pretext  of  illness,  found  himself  confronted  with 
an  order  to  solemnise  a  marriage  that  same  evening. 

The  countenance  of  the  small  divine  was  a  study  in 
outraged  dignity ;  that  of  Lord  Drummuir  one  of  super- 


114  MARMADUKE 

cilious  toleration — the  toleration  of  a  cat  for  the  unavail- 
ing efforts  of  a  mouse  to  escape  its  paralysing  captor. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  sir,  that  you  refuse  to  carry  out 
this  special  licence  at  a  perfectly  appropriate  time  and 
place?"  said  the  latter,  his  voice  even  but  deliberate. 
"  If  so,  I  must  ask  you  for  your  reasons  in  writing,  that  I 
may  forward  them  with  my  complaint."  He  waited  a 
moment,  then  went  on :  "  You  were  appointed  by  the 
Crown  to  this  charge.  A  parishioner  of  yours  in  posses- 
sion of  a  legal  licence  calls  upon  you  to  perform  the  duties 
of  your  office.  You  refuse,  and  I  refuse  to  accept  your 
refusal.  That,  I  think,  summarises  the  position  between 
us.  But  let  me  remind  you,  my  good  sir,  that  nothing 
short  of  reliable  information  of  cause  or  just  impediment 
can  justify  a  minister  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  in  refus- 
ing to  do  the  duty  for  which  he  is  paid  by  the  State. 
And  if,  sir,  the  licence  of  this  house  shocks  you — as  I  am 
told  it  does — I  think  this  endeavour  of  a  man  and  a 
woman  to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  so-called  respect- 
ability should  meet  your  approval.  Briefly,  my  dear 
sir,  you  have  not  a  leg  to  stand  upon,  and  I  demand  your 
services  at  six  o'clock  this  evening." 

The  little  minister  rose  and  made  him  a  courtly  bow. 

"  It  shall  be  as  your  lordship  wishes ;  but  I  reserve  to 
myself  the  right  of  showing  to  your  lordship  that  special 
licences  can  be  used  for,  as  well  as  against,  the  Church." 

"  Wonder  where  he  gets  his  manners  from,"  commented 
Lord  Drummuir  to  himself,  as  the  trim  figure  bowed  itself 
out.  "Father  must  have  been  someone's  valet,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  that  reminds  me  of  Marmaduke's  girl.  She's 
true  blue,  somehow." 

So  he  sat  down,  filled  from  top  to  toe  with  a  wicked 


MARMADUKE  115 

elation  at  his  own  success  in  upsetting  everybody's  plans, 
and  indited  the  following  epistle  to  his  son,  as  a  sort  of 
top  note  to  his  manoeuvres  : 

"  DEAR  BOY, — You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  Fantine 
Le  Grand  becomes  Lady  Drummuir  this  evening  at  six 
o'clock.  We  have  agreed  that  this  is  better  than  hunting 
two  thousand  pounds  through  the  capitals  of  Europe, 
even  in  company  with  you.  So  that  is  settled.  For  the 
rest,  I  enclose  a  cheque  for  two  thousand  pounds  on  my 
bankers.  You  owe  this  to  Marrion  Paul,  who  is  worth  the 
whole  batch  of  you  put  together.  I  cannot  conceive  how 
you  were  such  a  confounded  ass  as  not  to  see  this,  but  to 
let  her  slip  through  your  fingers  and  leave  the  poor  girl 
to  face  the  insults  of  the  neighbours,  as  she  is  doing ;  for, 
of  course,  her  escapade  is  the  talk  of  the  town.  My  dear 
Marmaduke,  I  am  ashamed  of  you ! — Your  affectionate 
father,  DRUMMUIR. 

"  Your  step-mamma  sends  you  her  duty." 

He  chuckled  over  the  production  which  he  calculated 
told  enough  to  rouse  anger  and  not  enough  to  satisfy 
curiosity,  and  which,  while  being  a  regular  facer,  left 
the  relations  between  them  much  as  they  were. 

After  which  he  had  himself  wheeled  to  the  big  hall 
where  the  ceremony  was  to  take  place,  and  amused  him- 
self vastly  by  superintending  decorations  and  mystifying 
Peter,  who  came  in  from  a  day  after  wild  duck,  to  find 
the  house  upside  down.  It  was  the  sort  of  situation  in 
which  his  lordship  revelled,  and  he  became  almost 
lachrymose  over  reminiscences  of  the  past  with  Jack 
Jardine,  who  never  moved  a  muscle,  but  took  the  cere- 


116  MARMADUKE 

mony  as  a  matter  of  course.  Only  when  Peter,  less 
experienced,  asked  him  what  the  deuce  the  old  man 
meant  by  playing  the  goat  at  a  moment's  notice,  he  shook 
his  head  solemnly,  and  replied — 

"  Your  father  is  a  very  remarkable  man,  Peter,  a  very 
remarkable  man  indeed." 

So  at  the  appointed  hour  the  wheeled-chair  took  its 
place,  its  occupant  duly  bedecked  with  the  white  flower 
of  a  blameless  life  in  his  buttonhole,  before  the  improvised 
sort  of  altar  which  bore  on  it  a  beautiful  bunch  of  late 
roses;  and  the  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  with  a  colour  in 
his  usually  pale  cheeks  sailed  in  very  stiff  in  his  starched 
bands  and  rustling  academical  black  robes  and  took  his 
place  before  it.  The  bride,  composed  and  cheerful,  look- 
ing quite  virginal  in  white  and  orange  blossoms,  ap- 
peared on  the  arm  of  Colonel  Compton  and  followed  by 
her  bridesmaids,  also  in  white.  There  were,  however,  but 
two  of  them,  for  Margaret  Muir  boldly  stalked  in  separ- 
ately, attired  in  a  fine  new  purple  gown,  and  took  a  place 
sedately  beside  Jack  Jardine,  who  stared  at  her  incredu- 
lously ;  for  her  father's  eyes  were  upon  her  and  scowling 
disapproval  at  her  disobedience  to  his  commands.  She 
seemed  quite  indifferent  to  this,  and  nodded  an  encour- 
aging smile  to  her  sisters,  who,  poor  souls,  were  the  only 
people  who  showed  by  their  red  eyes  and  general  emo- 
tion that  the  occasion  was  serious  and  not  a  mere  farce. 

So  curtly,  baldly,  shorn  of  every  unnecessary  word, 
every  touch  of  sentiment,  the  simple  formula  binding 
those  two  sinners  in  the  most  holy  of  bonds  went  swiftly 
on,  until  the  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  closed  the  register 
in  which  Peter,  as  his  father's  best  man,  and  Jack  Jardine, 
as  family  friend,  had  duly  attested  the  marriage,  and 


MARMADUKE  117 

stepped  down  to  where  Lord  Drummuir's  chair  stood 
with  the  new-made  Lady  Drummuir  beside  it. 

"  My  part  in  this  pitiable  travesty  being  ended,  sir/* 
he  said,  with  a  dignified  bow,  "  I  take  my  leave.  Before 
I  do  so,  however,  I  wish  to  introduce  my  wife  to  you  and 
acquaint  you  with  my  marriage — also  by  special  licence 
— to  your  daughter.  Margaret,  my  dear!"  he  added, 
raising  his  voice,  "  oblige  me  by  saying  farewell  to  your 
father.     It  is  the  last  time  you  are  likely  to  see  him." 

For  a  second  the  figure  in  the  purple  gown  hesitated 
and  gave  an  agonised  glance  at  her  sisters  in  white ;  then 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  small  dignified  figure  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  unreservedly  given  her  whole  large 
heart,  her  courage  returned,  she  walked  forward,  her 
head  held  high,  and  faced  her  father.  He  was  purple 
with  rage,  and  looked  as  if  he  would  have  a  fit. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  stuttered,  "that  you 
have  married  that — that  j  ackanapes  ?" 

Her  face  flushed,  her  temper  was  up  in  a  second,  and 
matched  his  own. 

"  No,  sir ;  I  have  married  an  honourable  gentleman  of 
birth  equal  to  my  own  !  It  is  more  than  you  can  say  of 
your  bride's " 

"Margaret,  Margaret !"  came  the  little  parson's  warn- 
ing voice ;  for,  be  Lord  Drummuir's  faults  what  they  may, 
he  was  still  her  father. 

But  she  would  have  none  of  it,  she  was  going  to  have 
her  say  for  the  first  and  last  time  of  her  life ;  so  she  went 
on  while  the  old  lord  listened,  a  sort  of  wicked  approval 
in  his  eyes.  He  had  not  known  she  was  so  much  his 
daughter. 

"And  I  married  him  without  asking  your  consent, 


118  MARMADUKE 

because  I  knew  you  never  would  have  given  it,  and  I  am 
of  age " 

"Yes,  my  dear,  a  bit  long  in  the  tooth  !"  broke  in  the 
old  man  viciously. 

"  Very,"  she  replied ;  "  but  not  so  old  a  bride  as  you 
are  a  groom.  I'm  thirty-six,  and,  as  you  said  yourself, 
if  I  choose  to  get  married  by  special  licence,  provided 
there's  no  cause  or  just  impediment,  no  one — not  even  the 
nearest  and  dearest — have  a  right  to  object.  Isn't  that 
what  he  said  ?"  she  added,  in  appeal. 

The  Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  looked  at  his  lordship 
and  his  lordship  looked  at  him.  Then  suddenly  came 
one  of  the  rough,  rude  gaff  aws. 

"You've  caught  a  tartar,  parson!"  chuckled  the  old 

man.     "  Take  her,  and  be  d d  to  you  both  for  a  couple 

of  fools.  I'll  leave  you  to  be  angry,  if  you  like;  this  is 
my  wedding-day  and  I  want  to  be  jolly.  Here,  Davie — 
Davie  Sim,  where  the  devil  are  you  with  your  pipes? 
Skirl  up  '  Muir's  Matching.'     Now,  my  lady." 

And  as  the  wheeled-chair  moved  off  accompanied  by 
white  satin  and  orange  blossoms  he  looked  round  to  the 
purple  robe  with  almost  boyish  malice  in  his  eye. 

"  Take  the  parson's  arm  and  come  along,  Meg.  You 
may  as  well  get  a  good  send  off  from  the  castle  and  have 
your  share  of  the  family  wedding  march,  since  it  is  little 
else  you'll  be  getting  from  the  Muirs  of  Drummuir." 

That  evening,  after  the  newly  made  Lady  Drummuir 
had  been  dismissed  to  her  own  rooms  with  the  injunction 
to  remember  her  new  honours,  and  not  to  stand  any 
cursed  nonsense  from  any  one,  and  the  old  man,  regard- 
less of  gout,  sat  drinking  one  glass  of  port  after  another 
on  the  ground  that,  having  got  royally  drunk  at  his  three 


MARMADUKE  119 

previous  weddings,  he  was  not  going  to  treat  his  fourth 
with  less  consideration — Jack  Jardine,  somewhat  breath- 
less after  all  the  disturbing  and  inexplicable  events  of 
the  day,  shook  his  head  and  said  once  more — 

"  Your  father  is  a  remarkable  man — a  very  remarkable 
man !" 

"Very,"  assented  Peter.  "Now  I  wonder  what  Mar- 
rion  Paul  had  to  do  with  it  all !" 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARRION  PAUL  herself  failed  to  answer  that  question. 
When  she  had  returned  at  six  o'clock  to  the  castle — 
having  spent  the  intervening  time  down  by  the  seashore 
in  order  to  avoid  Penelope — she  had  been  completely 
taken  aback  by  the  sudden  development  of  affairs,  won- 
dering if  she  were  in  any  way  responsible  for  what  had 
happened. 

But  a  single  look  at  the  old  lord's  face,  as  he  was 
wheeled  in  to  take  his  place  at  the  marriage  ceremony, 
made  her  realise  that  the  unwieldy  body,  instinct  with 
malice  and  controlled  by  autocratic  unassailable  will, 
held  every  inmate  of  Drummuir  Castle,  herself  included, 
as  puppets  in  the  hollow  of  its  gouty  hand. 

A  sudden  unreasoning  desire  to  get  away  from  that 
influence,  an  extreme  distaste  at  the  part  she  had  played 
in  the  serio-comic  tragedy  filled  her.  She  envied  the 
Reverend  Patrick  Bryce  his  independence,  and  it  was 
with  real  relief  that,  according  to  her  plan,  she  found 
herself  once  more  rumbling  to  the  Cross-keys  in  the  chaise 
from  the  Crow. 

This  should  be  her  last  departure  from  the  conven- 
tional. Now  that  Duke's  safety  from  the  dancing 
woman's  wiles  had  been  secured,  she  had  time  to  blame 
for  his  supineness ;  and  he,  of  course,  when  he  heard  of 
the  marriage,  was  not  likely  to  forgive  her.  Thus  they 
were  quits ! 


MARMADUKE  121 

So  be  it.  She  could  return  to  her  dressmaking  and 
never  see  him  again.  He  had  his  majority,  and,  born 
soldier  as  he  was,  had  his  chance. 

Not  knowing,  for  certain,  under  what  name  Fantine 
Le  Grand  had  engaged  her  room  for  the  night,  she  was 
wary  with  the  landlady  of  the  Cross-keys  and  felt  re- 
lieved when  she  was  shown  into  a  less  pretentious  room 
than  the  one  she  had  been  in  the  night  before.  Her  vigil 
— and  she  knew  it  would  be  a  long  one  ere  the  house  was 
quiet  enough  to  allow  of  her  slipping  down  to  the  office 
to  see  if  Marmaduke  had  written  anything  in  the  visitors' 
book — would  have  been  harder  in  surroundings  so  full 
of  keen  memory.  What  a  fool  she  had  been  !  Why  had 
she  been  so  frank  with  him  ?  The  hot  blood  mounted  to 
her  very  temples  at  the  thought  of  it  even  while  she  felt 
angry  with  herself  that  it  should  be  so.  After  all,  she 
was  not  quite  as  the  other  douce  country  folk ;  there  was 
something  in  her  blood  that  was  different;  something 
that  rebelled  against  the  tyranny  of  that  bloated  old 
man,  sitting  like  a  spider  in  his  web,  imposing  his  wicked 
will  upon  all  by  sheer  force  of  character. 

Yet  he  had  behaved  well  to  her,  and  he  was  terribly, 
horribly  like  Duke. 

So  she  sat  raging,  her  head  aching,  till  it  was  time  to  do 
the  last  bit  of  trickery,  as  it  seemed  to  her  now.  Yet  it 
must  be  done;  for  if  Marmaduke  had  been  indiscreet, 
Penelope,  in  her  pryings,  which  were  certain,  would  be 
sure  to  find  it  out.  It  was  not,  however,  till  between  two 
and  three — that  time  when  even  the  ostlers  at  an  inn 
sleep — that  it  was  safe  for  her  to  steal  downstairs  to  the 
visitors'  book.  Even  so,  Boots  lay  snoring  on  a  sofa  in 
the  office.     But  her  task  did  not  take  long.     There,  as 


122  MARMADUKE 

she  had  foreseen,  was  Marmaduke's  unmistakable  writing 
in  the  words  "  Captain  the  Honourable  and  Mrs.  Marma- 
duke  Muir."  Below,  as  if  as  witnesses,  two  commer- 
cial travellers  had  written  their  name  and  address.  She 
had  brought  a  sharp  penknife  with  her,  so,  in  less  than  a 
minute,  the  page  was  removed,  the  corresponding  one  in 
the  quire  pulled  out,  and  the  book  closed  again  without 
trace  of  any  removal.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she 
reached  her  bedroom  again,  and,  folding  up  the  written 
sheet,  placed  it  in  her  purse.  Then,  after  burning  the 
other,  she  lay  down  and  tried  to  sleep.  But  unsuccess- 
fully, though  she  felt  outwearied  to  an  altogether  unusual 
degree.  The  arrival  of  the  early  coach  was  a  relief.  She 
took  her  seat  in  it,  hoping  the  fresh  air  would  drive  away 
her  malaise;  but  it  did  not. 

"You're  no  feelin'  just  the  thing,  miss,"  said  a  sym- 
pathetic bagman  as  he  got  out  to  stretch  his  legs  at  a 
change  of  horses.  "Try  just  a  wee  sup  of  whisky;  its 
awful  inspirin\" 

Marrion,  smiling,  shook  her  head.  By  this  time  she 
was  beginning  to  wonder  if,  despite  her  usual  hardiness, 
she  had  got  a  chill  the  night  before. 

It  was  past  eight  in  the  evening  ere  Edinburgh  was 
reached,  and,  anxious  to  be  housed  as  soon  as  possible, 
she  left  her  box  at  the  coach  office  and  made  her  way 
giddily  to  her  old  lodgings  where  the  landlady  had 
agreed  to  keep  her  belongings  until  her  return  from  her 
holiday.  They  were  up  a  common  stair  that  echoed  and 
re-echoed  to  the  slam  of  the  street  door  and  her  own 
wavering  steps.  The  rooms  were  high  up  and  more  than 
once  Marrion  had  to  pause  for  breath,  and  when  at  last  she 
rang  she  had  to  lean  against  the  door,  to  recover  herself.. 


MARMADUKE  123 

There  was  no  answer.  She  rang  again  and  waited — 
waited  an  interminable  time,  until  someone  coming  down 
the  common  stair  said  briefly — 

"  Ye're  wastm'  yer  time,  mum.  Mistress  McGillivray's 
deid" 

"  Dead  !"  she  echoed  feebly. 

"  Aye,  last  week,  and  the  polis  hae  lockit  up  the  place 
till  the  heirs  be  known,"  replied  the  man,  as  he  passed  on, 
rousing  the  echoes  again. 

Marrion  followed  him,  realising  that  she  must  seek 
another  lodging.  Easy  in  a  way,  yet  difficult,  since  in 
that  quarter  of  the  old  town  many  of  the  houses  were  not 
over-respectable.  Still  it  was  only  for  a  night,  and  bed 
she  must  have  as  soon  as  possible.  So  she  closed  with  an 
exorbitant  offer  in  cash  of  a  fairly  clean  attic  made  by  a 
loose-lipped  lady  who  smelt  rather  of  whisky,  and  five 
minutes  later,  having  locked  herself  in,  threw  herself,  still 
half-dressed,  on  the  truckle  bed. 

There  the  landlady  next  morning,  having  placidly 
unlocked  the  door  with  a  master  key,  found  her,  flushed, 
breathless  and  delirious — briefly,  down  with  a  sharp 
attack  of  pneumonia.  Infirmaries  and  district  nurses 
being  not  as  yet,  Mother  Gilchrist,  as  her  clientele  called 
her,  coolly  took  possession  of  her  lodger's  purse,  sent  for 
an  apothecary  doctor  from  round  the  corner,  and  there- 
inafter treated  the  patient  with  a  certain  amount  of  rough 
kindness,  sending  some  of  her  other  lodgers,  girls  with 
haggard  faces  and  loose  hair,  to  sit  with  her,  and  going 
up  occasionally  with  water-gruel  and  still  more  watery 
beef-tea.  But  Marrion  Paul  was  strong,  and  so,  after  a 
fortnight's  struggle  in  the  valley,  she  came  out  of  it  wan 
and  emaciated,  and  lay  looking  at  a  bit  of  torn  paper 


124  MARMADUKE 

on  the  wall,  that  all  through  her  fever  dreams  had  flapped 
like  a  sail  in  a  boat  in  which  she  and  Duke  were  drifting 
out  to  sea,  and  wondering  how  much  of  what  she  remem- 
bered was  true  and  how  much  dreams. 

"I  must  get  up,"  she  said  suddenly,  when  Mother 
Gilchrist  appeared  in  company  with  water-gruel.  "  And 
will  you  give-  me  my  purse,  please  ?  I  put  it  under  my 
pillow,  I  think,  but  it  isn't  there." 

Mother  Gilchrist  laughed  a  loose-lipped  laugh  and 
produced  the  purse  from  her  pocket. 

"  Yon's  the  purse,  my  dearie ;  but  there's  naethin'  in  it 
the  now.  What  wi'  rent  an'  doctors  an'  physic,  forby 
nursin',  what  else  is  to  be  expectit  ?" 

Marmie  stared  aghast. 

"But  there  was  nigh  ten  pun*  in  till't,"  she  pro- 
tested. 

"It's  just  awfie  expensive  bein'  ill,"  replied  Mother 
Gilchrist  calmly.  "Ye  can  hae  the  reckonin'  later  on. 
Meanwhile,  tak  yer  nourishment  like  a  good  lammie." 

"What's  ten  pun'  to  you  one  way  or  another,"  con- 
tinued the  exemplar  of  youth,  when  Marmie,  up  for  the 
first  time,  returned  to  the  charge.  "You've  gotten  a 
paper  in  yon  purse  that's  worth  a  guid  deal  tae  you,  my 
lass,  if  it's  written  in  the  man's  own  write — an'  if  ye  can 
prove " 

Marrion  interrupted  her  in  an  angry  flash. 

"  You're  making  a  mistake.  It  has  nothing  to  do  wi' 
me.     An'  I  wouldn't  prove  if  I  could." 

She  paused,  feeling  she  was  contradicting  herself. 

"Lord  sakes,"  retorted  Mother  Gilchrist,  "ye  needna 
loup  down  a  body's  throat !  An',  anyhow,  a  lassie  wi' 
such  hair  as  you've  gotten  needna  look  for  ten  pounds." 


MARMADUKE  125 

Marrion,  still  weakened  body  and  soul  by  her  illness, 
thought  almost  regretfully  of  her  hairdresser. 

"  Aye,"  she  assented  languidly,  "  they'd  give  me  that 
for  it ;  but  I  should  feel  bad  if  it  were  cut  off,  shouldn't 
I?" 

Mother  Gilchrist  burst  into  a  cackling  laugh. 

"  There's  more  ways,  my  lammie,  o'  makin'  money  by 
hair  than  by  shear  in'  it  off  like  a  sheep's  fleece,"  she  said 
meaningly. 

But  the  meaning  did  not  come  home  to  Marmie  until 
one  of  the  rather  bedraggled  girls  in  cheap  finery  let  her 
into  the  secret  of  the  house.  They  paid  Mother  Gilchrist 
a  certain  sum  for  board  and  lodging,  and  on  the  whole 
she  was  kind  to  them.  Anyhow,  they  had  to  lump  it,  as 
most  of  them  were  in  debt  to  her.  However,  there  was 
always  the  chance  of  a  stroke  of  luck,  especially  when  one 
was  new  to  the  business  and  had  such  hair  as  Marrion 
had. 

That  same  afternoon  Marrion  managed  to  creep  round 
to  the  coach  office.  She  intended  to  get  her  box  and 
pawn  some  of  her  things — even  the  little  brilliant  brooch 
of  her  father's — so  as  to  keep  her  in  decent  lodgings  till 
she  could  find  employment  in  some  dressmaking  concern. 
She  would  not  go  back  to  her  old  employers,  for  her 
address  there  was  known  and  she  wanted  to  lose  herself ; 
for  a  while  at  any  rate. 

But  Fate  was  against  her.  Failing  a  claimant  the  box 
had  been  sent  back  whence  it  came,  as  the  only  address 
to  be  found  on  it  was  Drummuir  Castle,  Drum.  Nor  was 
her  call  at  her  old  landlady's  more  successful.  The  flat 
was  still  locked  up ;  so  she  came  back  utterly  wearied  and 
disheartened,  to  be  met  by  a  demand  for  more  money 


126  MARMADUKE 

from  Mother  Gilchrist,  who  looked  at  her  as  one  looks  at 
a  rat  caught  in  a  trap.  She  had  miscalculated  with 
Marrion,  however ;  and  in  an  instant  the  latter  made  up 
her  mind.  She  must  get  out  of  the  present  quagmire 
without  delay.  Yet  she  did  not  wish  to  make  herself 
known  to  the  friends  she  had  in  Edinburgh,  because  dur- 
ing the  past  fortnight  her  desire  to  lose  herself — to  get 
away  once  and  for  all  from  Drummuir  and  all  that  Drum- 
muir  entailed — aye,  even  Duke — had  been  strengthening. 
But  she  could  sell  her  hair.  Mother  Gilchrist,  arguing 
from  other  girls,  was  calculating  she  would  not ;  but  she 
would  find  she  was  mistaken.  She  might  think  it  safe 
enough  to  let  a  girl  without  a  penny  in  her  pocket  go  out 
alone,  but  she  would  find  herself  wrong. 

That  night  Marrion  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just,  and  it 
was  one  o'clock — for  the  gun  had  just  fired  from  the 
castle — next  day  when,  with  a  curiously  light  heart,  she 
walked  out  of  the  most  fashionable  hairdresser's  shop  in 
Prince's  Street.  She  had  eschewed  her  old  admirer's  for 
obvious  reasons,  but  she  had  found  no  difficulty  in  her 
bargain ;  and  if  her  heart  was  light,  her  purse  was  heavy. 
She  was  free,  at  any  rate,  of  Mother  Gilchrist  and  her 
kind ;  she  was  free  also  of  any  necessity  for  recalling  the 
past.     She  would  make  her  own  future  in  life. 

As  she  passed  through  the  shop  heavily  veiled,  for  she 
would  run  no  risk  of  recognition,  a  group  of  fashion- 
ably dressed  young  men  were  daffing  over  fommade 
hongroise  with  an  attractive  young  person  behind  the 
counter,  but  they  took  no  notice  of  the  somewhat  shabbily 
dressed  figure  which  passed  out  and  went  westward. 
With  money  in  her  pocket  Marrion's  plans  began  to 
formulate  rapidly.     She  would  not  stop  in  Edinburgh; 


MARMADUKE  127 

she  would  go  to  some  place  where  the  fear  of  recognition 
would  not  constantly  be  with  her.  So  she  would  go — 
whither  ? 

She  pondered  the  question  idly,  heedless  of  Fate  be- 
hind her  in  the  shape  of  one  of  those  fashionably  dressed 
young  men,  who,  two  minutes  after  Marrion  had  passed 
through  the  shop,  had  burst  out  after  her,  leaving  his 
companions  still  looking  with  admiration  at  a  great  pile 
of  red-brown  hair  which  the  proprietor  of  the  shop,  hugely 
delighted  with  hi '5  bargain,  had  brought  in  for  these 
privileged  customers  to  see. 

So  she  had  not  long  for  freedom.  Ere  she  had  reached 
Frederick  Street  a  detaining  hand  was  on  her  arm  and 
a  joyous  voice  in  her  ears — 

"  Marmie  !  I  knew  it  must  be  you  !  I  have  been  look- 
ing for  you  everywhere." 

"  Duke,"  she  said  feebly  as  she  looked  round.  And  as 
she  did  so,  the  distant  Calton  Hill  blocking  the  blue 
slopes  of  Arthur's  Seat,  the  wonderful  blending  of  town 
and  country  which  makes  Edinburgh  seem  an  epitome 
of  human  life,  was  lost  to  her  eyes ;  she  only  saw  his  face, 
insouciant,  smiling,  yet  full  of  affection.  The  douce 
commonsensical  world  in  which  she  had  resolved  to  live 
was  gone;  she  was  among  the  stars  again,  in  a  different 
existence,  herself  a  different  being.  Yet  even  as  she 
realised  this  she  realised  that  she  was  alone.  He  had 
not  found  his  wings  to  follow  her. 

Yet  he  was  prompt ;  without  pause  he  hailed  a  passing 
cab,  put  her  into  it  unresisting,  gave  the  order  Pentland 
Hotel,  and  as  he  seated  himself  beside  her  reached  out 
a  hand  with  glad  delight  in  the  clasp  of  its  warm  fingers 
to  find  her  own. 


128  MARMADUKE 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Duke  ?"  she  asked,  with  a  sort 
of  sob  in  her  effort  to  keep  herself  to  normal. 

"To  have  lunch,  my  dear!"  he  replied  joyously. 
"You  look  as  if  you  wanted  it.  And  we  haven't  much 
time  to  spare,  for  the  train  starts  for  Glasgow  at  2.30 
and  we  must  go  by  it,  for  my  leave  is  up  and  I  have  to 
get  back  to  Ayr  by  to-morrow.  Fm  in  command  of  the 
detachment  there." 

The  certitude  of  his  words  roused  instant  resentment. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me,"  she  said  peremptorily. 
"  Will  you  stop  the  cab,  Captain  Muir  ?" 

"But,  my  dear,"  he  replied,  quite  pathetically,  "I 
must  speak  to  you  somehow,  and  this  is  my  only  chance. 
Do  come,  Marmie,  at  any  rate,  to  lunch." 

The  simplicity  of  his  plea  disarmed  her  again,  and 
the  hotel  being  reached  at  that  moment  she  allowed  him 
to  take  her  on  his  arm  up  the  steps  after  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  But  once  in  the  private  sitting-room,  which, 
with  lunch  for  two  as  quick  as  possible,  he  had  com- 
manded in  a  lordly  voice  as  he  entered,  his  manner 
changed  again. 

"Take  off  that  veil  and  bonnet,  will  you,  please,"  he 
said  abruptly.  "  I  want  to  see  what  that  brute  has  dared 
to  do." 

Marrion  looked  at  him  startled. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  continued,  "I  know!  That's  how  I 
found  you.  When  the  man  brought  in  that  pile  of  hair 
to  show  those  young  cubs — faugh !  it  makes  me  sick  to 
think  of  them  fingering  it — I  knew  it  must  be  yours ;  no 
one  else  has  hair  like  it.  Marmie !  Marmie !  why  did 
you  let  him  do  it — the  grovelling,  money-grubbing 
beast !" 


MARMADUKE  129 

Once  again  his  anger  appeased  her,  and  she  replied  : 

"  I  wanted  the  money." 

He  groaned. 

"  And  you  got  me  the  two  thousand  pounds  !  Oh  !  yes, 
the  old  man — curse  him  ! — told  me  all  about  it,  and  how 

that    harridan    Penelope But    never    mind    that 

now,  though,  you  see,  we  have   plenty  to  talk  about. 
When " 

She  had  removed  her  bonnet  and  now  stood  a  trifle 
defiant. 

"It  will  grow  again  !" 

But  he  had  passed  from  his  vexation. 

"Why,  Marmie,  surely  you've  been  ill?  You  are  so 
thin,  so  pale,  child — what  has  been  the  matter?"  he 
exclaimed,  all  his  innate  kindness  coming  uppermost. 
"Here,  sit  down ;  you  look  as  if  you  were  going  to  faint " 
— he  rang  the  bell  violently.  "I  don't  believe  you've 
had  anything  to  eat !  Here !  Tell  the  housekeeper 
to  send  up  a  cup  of  soup — beef-tea,  if  she  has  got  it — at 
once,  and — and  some  toast,"  he  called  out  loudly,  after 
the  retreating  waiter.  Then  he  came  to  stand  by  Mar- 
rion  and  say  in  an  almost  tragic  voice,  "  I  owe  you  a  lot, 
Marrion  Paul,  and  I'm  going  to  pay  it  back,  by  gad  ! 
lam!" 

She  tried  to  laugh  and  failed,  feeling  she  would  cry 
if  she  spoke.  So  she  took  her  soup  when  it  came  and 
afterwards,  as  he  eat  his  lunch,  they  talked  and  argued. 
"  Now  look  here,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  last  in  his  old, 
rather  flamboyant,  most  masterful  manner,  "  you  tell  me 
you  don't  want  to  stop  in  Edinburgh,  and  you  tell  me  you 
have  plenty  of  money  in  your  purse.  But  one  thing  you 
haven't  got  at  present — strength  to  work.      I  can  see 

9 


130  MARMADUKE 

you  haven't,  and  you  have  done  an  immense  amount  for 
me,  and— well,  I'm  dashed  if  I  am  going  to  leave  you  as 
you  are  to  face  things  alone.  So  that  settles  it.  I  must 
get  back  to  Glasgow  now.  You  come  with  me  so  far. 
I  promise  you,  Marmie,  I  will  not — well,  annoy  you  in 
any  way.  See  a  doctor,  and — and  do  as  you  like.  Only 
I  swear  to  you,  my  dear,  if  you  won't  be  reasonable  I'll 

break  my  leave  and  stop  here,  and — and " 

His  boyish  face  broke  into  mischief ;  he  came  towards 
her  with  hands  outstretched,  frank,  absolutely  devoid 
of  all  save  pure  aff ectipn. 

In  a  way,  it  cut  her  to  the  heart  as  she  acquiesced. 
The  ride  to  Glasgow,  first-class,  with  all  the  alacrity 
of  guards  and  porters  consequent  on  Marmaduke's  lordly 
ways  and  tips,  was  rather  an  agreeable  novelty ;  so  also 
was  the  obsequiousness  of  the  hotel  where  he  left  her, 
saying  he  would  be  round  to  see  her  ere  he  started  for 
Ayr  next  morning. 

Before  he  came,  however,  a  rather  well-known  doctor 
arrived  somewhat  to  her  annoyance,  the  more  so  because 
his  verdict  was  startling.  A  sharp  attack  of  pneumonia, 
which  mercifully  had  not  killed  her,  had  left  both  lungs 
enfeebled.  At  least  six  weeks'  complete  rest,  care,  and 
good  food,  and,  if  possible,  sea  air  would  be  necessary 
to  make  them  normal ;  but  given  these  desiderata  perfect 
recovery  was  assured. 

Six  weeks !  Marrion,  despite  her  full  purse,  was 
aghast,  and  Marmaduke,  coming  in  with  his  usual  breezy 
vitality,  found  her  depressed.  He  was  in  uniform,  and 
it  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  him  so,  with  all  the 
accessories,  as  it  were,  of  his  young  manhood  about  him, 
from  the  glitter  of  his  plaid  brooch  to  the  pipe-clay  on 


MARMADUKE  131 

his  white  gaiters,  for  Andrew  Fraser  would  have  scorned 
to  have  aught  astray  in  his  master's  kit. 

"I  have  had  rather  bad  news,"  she  began  dolefully; 
but  he  checked  her  with  a  comprehending  smile. 

"  I  know,"  he  replied,  f  I  was  waiting  for  the  pill-doc's 
verdict  downstairs.  Bui  it's  perfectly  easy,  my  dear. 
The  sea  is  simply  splendid  at  Ayr.  I'm  off  there  in 
quarter  of  an  hour ;  but  I'm  going  to  leave  Andrew  Fraser 
here  to  bring  you  down  later  on.  If  I  can't  find  you  a 
suitable  lodging  before  you  come  you  can  get  one  for 
yourself  next  day.  And  if  you  do  run  short  of  money, 
you  can  always  come  to  me,  can't  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ANDREW  FRASER  stood  at  attention  watching  a  couple 
of  figures,  a  man  and  a  woman,  who  for  the  last  hour 
had  been  dredging  a  sea-pool  with  a  landing  net  as  if 
they  were  boy  and  girl.  He  had  watched  them  at  it 
often  in  the  last  six  weeks,  and,  honest,  straight-forward 
fellow  as  he  was,  had  wondered  how  they  managed  to 
treat  each  other  with  such  perfect  unconsciousness  that 
they  were  man  and  woman.  So  far  as  his  master  was 
concerned,  that  might  be,  for  Andrew  was  shrewd  enough 
to  see  the  difference  between  friendship  and  passion; 
but,  if  anyone  was  ever  heart-wholly  in  love,  Marrion 
Paul  was  that  person.  You  could  see  it  in  her  face;  yet 
it  never  seemed  to  influence  her  actions.  The  percep- 
tion of  this  made  Andrew  vaguely  afraid  of  her;  it 
put  a  sort  of  damper  on  his  own  passion  for  her, 
since  such  self-control  was  not  natural;  it  was  barely 
human. 

Hour  after  hour,  the  simple  soul  would  tell  himself, 
those  two  would  play  themselves  like  a  couple  of  weans. 
Three  or  four  times  a  week  the  major  would,  after  the 
morning  parades  were  over,  drive  out  in  his  tilbury — 
Andrew  perched  in  the  tiny  back  seat — and  spend  his 
afternoon  at  the  little  inn  which  was  also  the  ferry-house 
over  the  Doon  river  where  Marrion  lodged.  Sometimes 
the  two  would  go  out  sailing  together,  but  more  often 

132 


MARMADUKE  133 

they  amused  themselves  on  the  shore,  as  they  were  doing 
now,  dredging  for  sea  things  or  catching  miller's  thumbs. 
It  was  childish,  but  —  Andrew's  lean,  anxious  face 
puckered  with  confused  thought  as  he  turned  to  a  sound 
which  he  knew  would  bring  with  it  a  more  common- 
sensical  outlook  on  the  situation  than  he,  with  his  pas- 
sionate love  for  the  woman  concerned,  his  passionate 
affection  for  the  man,  could  bring  to  bear  on  it.  It  was 
the  click  of  busy  knitting  needles,  and  they  belonged  to 
the  landlady  of  the  "Plough."  She  was  a  thoroughly 
good,  kindly,  healthy  woman,  whose  views  were  strictly 
conventional  on  all  subjects  appertaining  to  the  relations 
between  the  sexes ;  and  as  these  in  those  days — and  even 
now,  for  the  most  part — were  that  sex  was  the  only  pos- 
sible tie  between  two  spirits  if  they  happened  to  be  living 
for  the  time  being,  one  in  a  male  body,  the  other  in  a 
female — they  were  not  likely  to  approve  of  the  dredgers 
of  sea-treasures. 

"  When  are  yon  two  gaun  to  be  marriet  ?"  she  asked 
firmly.  She  was  a  just  woman,  and  having  seen  no  signs 
of  wrong-doing  was  willing  to  believe  the  best. 

Andrew  hesitated. 

"I'm  thinkin',"  he  replied  slowly,  "that  they  are  no 
considering  marriage." 

"Then  they  aught  tae  think  shame  tae  themsels,"  re- 
torted the  landlandy  severely.  "Her  week's  up  the 
morrow's  morn,  an'  I'll  just  tell  her  she  canna  stop  in  my 
house.     It's  just  clean  redeeklus." 

Andrew  flushed  up. 

"There's  no  need  for  you  to  say  aught,  ma'am,"  he 
protested  eagerly.  "  She's  leavin',  anyhow.  Ye  ken  she 
.only  came  for  ,hej  health  and  that's  re-established.     It 


134  M  ARM  A  DUKE 

would  only  hurt  the  lassie — and — and  do  harm, 
mayhap." 

The  landlady  looked  at  him  and  sniffed. 

"  The  lassie,  as  you  ca'  her — will  take  no  hairm  from 
what  I  sail  say  to  her,  an*  she'd  be  the  better  to  give  up 
moithering  about  wi'  majors,  and  tak'  up  wi'  a  gude, 
God-fearin'  man  like  yersel\" 

And  with  that  she  carried  the  click  of  her  knitting- 
pins  back  into  the  inn,  leaving  Andrew  Fraser  battling 
with  his  own  heart.  Aye,  surely,  surely,  it  would  be 
better,  more  seemly,  more  discreet. 

But  there  they  were  coming  up  from  the  beach  like 
happy  children. 

"  Then  I'll  bring  a  boat  along  at  one  to-morrow,"  said 
the  major,  as  he  climbed  into  the  tilbury.  "I  can't  get 
away  before,  and  we'll  try  and  get  to  the  Craig.  It's 
eighteen  miles  south,  so  if  this  north-west  wind  holds 
good  we  shall  have  plenty  of  time,  shan't  we  ?" 

"Plenty  of  time!"  echoed  Marrion  happily. 

But  she  had  been  happy  every  day  of  those  six  weeks, 
and  even  now,  though  the  hair  money  was  running  short, 
and  she  knew  she  must  be  up  and  doing  in  a  few  days, 
she  would  not,  could  not,  think  of  the  future.  Sufficient 
to  the  day  was  the  evil  and  the  good  thereof. 

Half  an  hour  after  Marmaduke's  departure,  however, 
she  came  out  of  the  inn-parlour  with  a  heightened  colour. 
It  had  been  no  use  attempting  to  explain  the  position  to 
the  landlady,  it  was  foolish  to  mind  what  she  had  said ; 
the  more  so  as,  automatically,  that  position  must  end  in 
a  day  or  two ;  still  it  was  disturbing ! 

In  this  early  September  the  twilights  were  long  and 
the  sky  was  still  golden  high  up  to  the  zenith.     She  threw 


MARMADUKE  135 

a  shawl  over  her  head  and,  taking  a  boat,  sculled  herself 
across  the  ferry  for  a  calming  walk  down  the  coast-line. 

"  The  banks  and  braes  of  bonny  Doon  !" 

The  song  kept  echoing  in  her  head.  How  pinchbeck  it 
all  was,  that  love  of  which  men  sung — 

"  But  my  false  lover  stole  the  rose, 
But,  ah,  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  mel" 

That  was  a  man's  view  of  it.  He  came,  he  saw,  he  con- 
quered. Then  he  could  ride  away  leaving  a  thorn  be- 
hind him.  But  why  ?  She  laughed  aloud  as  she  thought 
of  her  own  passionate  love  for  Duke,  a  love  nothing  could 
touch,  a  love  that  was  unsoilable,  unassailable,  un- 
touchable ! 

It  was  dark  ere  she  returned  and  then  someone  tall 
and  soldierly  rose  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  little  sitting- 
room  of  the  inn  which  she  used  as  her  own.  For  an  in- 
stant her  heart  leapt.  Then  she  saw  it  was  Andrew 
Fraser. 

"  There's  nothing  wrong,  is  there  ?"  she  asked  hastily. 

"  I'm  no  that  sure,"  he  replied  unsteadily,  and  then  his 
outstretched  hands  found  hers,  warm  almost  compelling 
in  their  fierce  yet  tender  clasp. 

"  Marrion,  Marrion,  my  dear,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  ye're 
bringing  wae  into  yure  life  !  Oh,  dinna  draw  away  frae 
me,  I'm  not  come  to  tell  ye  I  love  you ;  thafs  sure !  You 
know  that,  Marrion,  if  you  know  anything.  But  listen  ! 
You  cou'dna  marry  me.  That's  sure,  too;  d'ye  think  I 
can't  feel  that,  too,  Marrion  ?  Right  through  to  the  very 
cauld  core  o'  my  heart,  an'  it's  cauld,  Marrion — it's 
deathly  cauld!"  He  paused,  and  the  girl  in  his  pas- 
sionate hold  shivered. 


136  MARMADUKE 

"It  makes  me  cauld,  too,  Andry,"  she  half-sobbed, 
"deathly  cauld.  You're  meybe  worth  more  than  he  is, 
but — but  I  canna  help  myself." 

Andrew's  voice  grew  firmer. 

"  An'  I  canna  help  it  either,  my  dear.  But  if  ye  canna 
marry  me,  why  sou'd  you  not  marry  him  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  willna  tie  him  down,"  she 
interrupted  hoarsely.     "I  willna  do  him  harm !" 

"It's  .no  harm!"  he  urged.  "See  you,  lassie;  would 
ye  rather  hae  a  Lord  Drummuir  wi'  a  wife  like  yerseP, 
or  a  Lord  Drummuir  like  to  the  auld  man  at  the  Castle 
now?  I'm  no  say  in',  mind  you,  that  he  wad  be  just  as 
his  father,  but — well,  I  hae  lived  wi'  the  major  these  eight 
years,  and  I  ken  fine  he  needs  a  guide — why,  my  dear, 
since  ye  cam  here,  he's  away  to  his  bed  like  a  lad  to  sleep 
like  a  child;  an'  there's  a  play-actin'  woman  at  the 
theaytre  in  Glasgi'  that  had  laid  hands  on  him  and 
thocht  she'd  got  him;  but  he's  just  escapit  the  snare  like 
a  bird  from  a  fowler.     Sae  ye  might  do  good,  not  harm." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Ye  mean  well,  Andry,"  she  said  softly,  "  but — but  he 
hasn't  really  asked  ine  to — to  marry  Ijiim." 

Andrew  turned  aside  wearily, 

"Has  he  no??>  he  replied.  " W«el,  that  may  be  your 
fault,  lassie;  ye  can  keep  a  man  at  arm's  length  wi'  a 
smilin'  face,  as  I  know  tae  my  cost." 

A  sudden  realisation  of  the  man's  self-sacrificing 
devotion  came  to  her. 

"  An'  ye've  come  to  tell  me  this,"  she  almost  whispered, 
"to  tell  me  to  your  cost !  Oh,  Andry,  Andry,  yere  love 
is  greater  than  mine  !" 

A  sort  of  half  sob  came  from  the  darkness. 


MARMADUKE  137 

"God  bless  ye  for  that,  Marrion — God  bless  ye  for 
that,  my  dear  1 

The  scalding  tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  raised  them 
from  her  hiding  hands  to  look  for  him ;  but  he  had  gone. 
The  shadows  were  empty. 

The  morning  rose  still  and  serene  save  for  the  puffing 
of  the  westerly  wind  that  ruffled  the  blue  sea  with  tiny 
white-crested  waves.  The  Ayrshire  coast  stretching 
south  lay  green  and  yellow  with  ripe  corn  in  little 
bays  and  promontories — far  away  like  a  faint  cloud  the 
cliffs  of  Ailsa  Craig  showed  almost  translucent. 

An  ideal  day  indeed  for  a  sail ! 

Marrion,  her  mind  still  disturbed  by  her  landlady's 
half-threatening  remonstrances  and  by  Andrew's  pathetic 
appeal  to  the  same  conventional  outlook,  turned  with 
relief  to  the  prospect  of  her  afternoon's  holiday;  prob- 
ably* the  last  one  she  would  have,  since  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  leave  for  work  next  day. 

It  was  a  good  deal  past  one  when  Marmaduke,  in 
rather  an  evil  temper,  ran  the  pleasure-boat  into  the  little 
pier  where  she  was  ready  waiting.  He  looked  less 
buoyant  than  usual  and  apologised  for  being  late.  All 
the  fishing  fleet  were  out,  he  said,  and  he  had  waited  in 
vain  to  get  a  man. 

"Not  that  that  matters!"  he  added,  recovering  him- 
self, as  he  helped  her  in.  "You  are  as  good  as  a  man 
any  day,  Marmie." 

.  And  yet,  when,  after  a  three  hours'  sail  before  the  wind, 
they  reached  the  Craig,  and,  mooring  the  boat,  climbed 
to  the  westering  cliffs  beneath  which  the  waves  set  a 
frill  of  white  lace,  he  fairly  startled  her  by  saying 
suddenly; 


138  MARMADUKE 

"  Marmie,  Fve  made  up  my  mind ;  I  am  going  to  marry 
you.  Fve  thought  over  everything  from  start  to  finish, 
and  Fm  certain  it  is  the  best  thing  for  both  of  us.  Now, 
my  dear  girl,  let  me  have  my  say  for  once;  you  shall 
have  yours  by-and-by.  Fm  not  going  to  talk  of  what 
you  did  for  me  with  my  father.  Fm  not  sure  yet,  you 
see,  whether  I  am  vexed  or  grateful.  A  man  doesn't  like 
to  be  exactly — well — herded ;  but  you  did  it ;  and  that 
intolerable  vixen  Penelope — but  I  won't  talk  about  her 
either.  Then  there's  the  hair  business,"  he  eyed  her  rue- 
fully, though  in  truth,  now  that  the  ends  began  to  curl, 
the  shearing  was  no  such  dis-sight,  "that  also  was  my 
fault;  and  now" — he  paused,  and  a  red  flush  of  anger 
rose  to  his  brow — "  the  goody-goodies  in  Ayr  apparently 
won't  let  you  alone,  and  one  of  the  youngsters  this  morn- 
ing tried  to  cut  a  joke;  but  I  won't  talk  of  that  either. 
The  long  and  short  of  it  is,  Marmie,  that  you  and  I  have 
got  to  get  married.  And  " — his  voice  changed  to  almost 
affection — "you  know,  dear,  what  you  stand  for  with 
me — for  everything  that  I  know  to  be  really  worth  hav- 
ing— everything  that — well — I  ought  to  .be  and  am  not. 
For  it's  the  old  story,  Marmie,  Fm  Tristram  Shandy  and 
you  are  the  Shorter  Catechism,  so — so  come  and  help 
me,  won't  you  ?" 

With  his  voice  in  her  ears  she  sat  for  a  moment  looking 
out  westwards.  A  low  bank  of  cloud  had  obscured  the 
horizon,  the  sun  just  thinking  of  sinking  behind  it  shone 
with  unearthly  brilliance  over  the  sea,  over  him,  over 
herself.  Then  she  disengaged  her  hand  from  his  gently, 
and,  rising,  stood  on  the  extreme  verge  of  the  cliff,  look- 
ing down  into  the  dazzling,  shifting  green  of  the  waves. 
\^ould  it,  after  all,  be  so  great  a  plunge  downwards  ? 


MARMADUKE  139 

She  had  often  imagined  the  choice  coming  to  her.  Sud- 
denly she  spoke : 

"There  is  no  need  for — for  Tristram  Shandy  to  be — 
to  be  bound  up  with  the  Shorter  Catechism,  is  there  ? 
The  two  could  help  each  other  without  the  binding, 
couldn't  they  ?  And  then  " — her  voice  had  the  break  of 
half-tears,  half-laughter  in  it — "  you  see  Tristram  Shandy 
would  be  free — free  to  marry."  She  had  been  so  intent 
on  her  own  words,  her  eyes  looking  out  far  beyond  that 
dark  horizon  that  she  had  .not  realised  he  had  risen  to 
stand  beside  her;  but  now  his  arm  about  her  waist,  his 
face  bent  caressingly  to  hers,  quite  overset  her  self-con- 
trol, she  turned  with  a  sob  and  buried  her  face  on  his 
breast.  "Oh,  Duke,  Duke!"  she  cried.  "I  mustn't,  I 
daren't  harm  you !" 

He  held  her  to  him  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again. 

"  You  won't  harm  me,"  he  said  exultantly.  "  Of  course 
I  shan't  be  able  to  noise  our  marriage  abroad  just  now, 
so  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  prepare  for  your  future 
position." 

All  the  glamour,  all  the  glitter  seemed  gone  from  the 
world;  she  drew  herself  away  from  him  and  smiled  at 
him  tenderly,  feeling  glad  that  he  had  failed  apparently 
to  realise  the  magnitude  of  her  offer. 

"  You  must  give  me  time  to  think,  Duke,"  she  said. 

He  looked  a  little  offended. 

"Oh,  take  it,  by  all  means;  only  if  you  won't  marry 
me  we  must  give  up  being  friends,  for  I'm  not  such  a 
cad  as  to  let  a  girl  like  you  lose  her  character  over  me — 
but  I  expect  I  shall  go  to  the  devil,  all  the  same." 

They  were  very  silent  when  they  set  sail  once  mors 


140  MARMADUKE 

They  had  intended  to  tack  along  the  coast  to  a  village 
where  Andrew  had  been  told  to  await  them  with  the 
tilbury;  but  after  one  or  two  attempts  to  make  way 
against  a  momentarily  increasing  wind,  Marmaduke, 
with  a  rapid  glance  at  that  arc  of  black  cloud  which 
had  by  now  overcast  the  zenith,  remarked  briefly  :  — 

"  We  are  in  for  it,  I  fear,  and  had  better  run  for 
Girvan.  Wait  till  I  am  ready,  Marmie,  then  take  her 
round  sharp." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  gust  of  a  coming  squall  struck 
them,  the  boat  heeled  over,  and  but  for  skill  both  at 
tiller  and  sheet,  might  have  overset. 

"  It's  a  mercy  you  can  steer,"  he  said,  a  minute  or  two 
later,  as  by  a  deft  giving  way  the  boat  over-rode  a 
following  seventh  wave;  "but  if  you  keep  your  head 
there's  no  harm  done." 

So  they  flew  before  the  rapidly  rising  gale,  which,  as 
it  rose,  shifted  from  north-west  to  nor'-nor'-by-west  and 
threatened  to  drive  them  down  the  coast. 

"We  shall  have  to  tack  to  make  Girvan,"  he  said 
sharply,  "  and  it's  best  to  do  it  before  the  full  fury  of 
the  storm  touches  us.     It  looks  ugly  out  there." 

Marmie  nodded. 

"  Til  take  my  time  from  you,"  she  replied,  "  but  don't 
hurry;  we  shall  get  into  a  slacker  bit  in  a  minute  or 
two." 

"Now!"  came  his  voice. 

The  helm  went  round  with  all  her  young  strength, 
but  the  boat  hung  for  a  second,  a  following  wave  took 
her  broadside  on,  there  was  a  crash,  and  Marmaduke 
was  overboard.  For  one  dreadful  second  Marrion's 
heart  stood  still ;  the  next  she  realised  he  had  still  the 


MARMADUKE  141 

sheet-rope  in  his  hand,  and,  bringing  the  boat  up  side- 
ways to  him,  he  had  his  hand  on  the  gunwale  and  was 
clambering  in. 

"That  was  a  narrow  shave,"  he  said,  with  a  brilliant 
smile.  "  Now,  Marmie,  as  the  yard  has  gone,  there's 
nothing  for  it  but  let  the  sail  fill  as  it  can  or  can't.  It 
will  steady  us,  anyhow.  So  I'll  tie  the  sheet  and  take 
the  tiller.  You'd  better  sit  at  my  feet — see,  here's  my 
coat — rubbish,  put  it  on,  I  tell  you  !  I  don't  think  we 
shall  make  Girvan,  but  I — I  think  I  can  run  her  ashore 

further  down.     If  not "      He  stooped   and   kissed 

her. 

That  was  all ;  but  whether  the  next  hour  was  a  night- 
mare or  a  heavenly  dream  Marrion  Paul  in  after  years 
never  could  decide.  The  great  waves  rushing  past  the 
little  boat,  the  half-dismasted  sail  bellying  out  over  the 
uplifted  bows,  scarce  seen  in  the  gathering  darkness, 
their  figures  in  the  stern,  close — ah !  so  close  together, 
she  resting  against  his  knees,  with  upturned  face  on  his, 
one  arm  round  his  waist,  the  other,  round  his  feet 
sheltering  him  as  best  she  could  with  the  coat  he  had 
insisted  on  her  taking.  And  he?  He  seemed  to  her 
as  the  archangel  Michael  might  have  seemed,  as  he  sat 
courageous,  alert,  bending  down  once  or  twice,  after  a 
stiffer  struggle,  to  touch  her  hair  with  his  lips,  and 
almost  laugh  his  confidence. 

"  Getting  along  nicely,  Marmie.  We  may  have  to 
swim  for  it — but  it  has  got  to  be  done  ! " 

At  last  there  came  a  roar  ahead  of  breakers  on  a 
beach. 

"  It's  sand,  I  think,  s©  off  with  your  boots  and  every- 
thing else  you  can!"  he  called  above  the  roar.     "No, 


142  MARMADUKE 

don't — ah,  thank  you,  now  I  can  kick  them  off !  Be 
ready,  child,  and  hold  on  to  me.  We  sink  or  swim 
together!" 

So  she  stood  beside  him  for  a  minute  or  two,  her  skirts 
thrown  aside,  her  bare  arms  ready  for  a  forward  drive. 
Then  came  a  faint  grating,  a  shock  as  the  boat,  heeled 
round  by  his  strong  arm,  struck  broadside  on  on  the  sand 
and  pitched  them  forward  nearer  the  land  into  the 
breakers.  There  was  a  terrific  back  draw,  and  Marrion 
felt  as  if  her  arms  would  be  torn  out  of  the  sockets ;  but 
Marmaduke's  grip  upon  her  was  as  iron ;  then  he  was  on 
his  feet,  then,  with  a  cry — 

"Run — run  for  all  you're  worth!"  He  half -dragged 
her  beyond  the  whole  awful  onslaught  of  the  sea.  Another 
wild  struggle,  another  forward  run,  and  they  were  safe 
on  the  sandy  shore,  with  low  moorland  around  them. 
Then  for  the  first  time  he  began,  manlike,  to  fuss  over 
discomfort. 

"  You  must  get  out  of  this  as  soon  as  may  be,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  they  stood  in  the  full  blast  of  the  biting 
wind.  "  I  see  a  light  over  yonder.  Let's  run  for  it,  it 
will  keep  you  warm." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  together  they  ran,  the  bruised 
leaves  of  the  bog  myrtle  as  they  sped  over  the  moor 
sending  their  clean  aromatic  odour  into  the  night  air. 

"  Better  than  last  time,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  By 
Jove,  I  did  get  deep  into  the  bog  that  time !  It's  better 
in  couples." 

So,  once  again  those  two,  caught  by  the  glamour  of 
pure  life,  raced  on  almost  forgetful  of  past  danger  and 
present  discomfort. 

The  light  proved  to  be  from  a  shepherd's  hut,  where 


MARMADUKE  143 

they  found  warmth  and  shelter,  a  sup  of  porridge,  and 
some  milk.  It  was  four  good  miles  to  Girvan  by  a  bad 
road,  and  that  made  a  retreat  thither  impossible  in  the 
teeth  of  such  a  furious  gale  as  was  now  raging;  so  the 
old  shepherd,  after  providing  Marrion  with  a  petticoat 
of  his  dead  wife's  and  a  plaid  of  his  own,  proposed  to 
retreat  to  an  outhouse  and  leave  the  cottage  to  his 
uninvited  guests.  Marmaduke,  however,  negatived  the 
proposal.  His  wife,  he  said,  would  be  the  better  of  a 
good  sleep,  while  he  must  be  off  at  daybreak  to  Girvan 
in  order  to  get  a  conveyance ;  so  she  could  lie  down  in  the 
bed-place  and  he  and  the  shepherd  could  just  snoozle 
by  the  fire.     Which  they  did. 

Marrion,  wide  awake  at  first,  her  nerves  all  athrill, 
listened  to  their  even  voices  for  a  time,  then  watched  them 
asleep  in  their  chairs,  the  firelight  on  their  placid  faces, 
and  finally  fell  asleep  herself,  to  wake  with  bright  sun- 
light streaming  into  the  little  cottage. 

A  scribbled  note  in  pencil  awaited  her  from  Mar- 
maduke. He  might  be  away  some  time;  she  was  not  to 
expect  him  till  she  saw  him. 

It  was  early  afternoon  when  he  did  return  in  an  open 
chaise  and  four  with  postillions. 

"  The  road  is  very  bad,"  he  explained  airily,  "  and  I've 
brought  you  some  clothes.  You'd  better  go  and  put 
them  on,  as  we  ought  to  start  at  once." 

"  You  ought  not "  she  began  hastily  at  her  first 

glance  at  the  milliner's  box.     "  You  really " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  he  replied,  with  a  charming  smile, 
"  mayn't  I  see  you  dressed  for  once  as  you  ought  to  be 
dressed  !" 

There  was  no  alternative  with  the  postillions  waiting, 


144  MARMADUKE 

and  as  she  put  on  the  things  he  had  brought  she  was 
forced  into  admitting  he  had  good  taste. 

"  You  do  look  nice !"  he  cried,  joyous  as  a  child,  as  he 
handed  her  into  the  chaise. 

The  next  instant  they  were  off,  the  grey  horses  with 
their  red-coated  postillions  lending  quite  a  bridal  appear- 
ance to  the  couple  behind  them,  for  Marmaduke  was  also 
very  spruce,  though  he  was  wearing  his  left  hand  tucked 
into  the  roll  collar  of  his  coat.  Something  in  the  look 
of  the  arm,  now  she  had  time  for  observation,  made  Mar- 
rion  say  suddenly — 

"You  hurt  yourself?" 

He  nodded. 

"Dislocated  my  wrist — you  see  that  first  wave  was 
an  awful  jerk.  So  I  had  to  get  back  to  the  regimental 
surgeon  to  get  it  sorted  and  get  my  three  days'  leave." 

She  looked  at  him  startled. 

"  What  for  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"  For  our  honeymoon,  dear,"  he  replied,  his  kindly, 
handsome  affectionate  face  bent  close  to  hers.  "Don't 
look  so  alarmed,  Marmie,  it  had  to  be  after  what  you 
and  I  went  through  together  yesterday;  we  can't  get 
away  from  each  other,  even  if  we  would." 

"  But "  she  began. 

At  that  instant  the  cross  road  on  which  they  had  been 
merged  into  a  turnpike,  and  with  a  swerve  the  grey 
horses  turned  to  the  right. 

"  But  me  no  buts  !"  he  cried  gaily.  "  We  are  on  the 
south  road,  not  the  north."  Then  he  suddenly  grew 
grave.  "  And  God  bless  you,  dear,  for  all  you've  done 
for  me  and  will  do  for  me  in  the  years  to  come  ! " 

That  turn  south  had  brought  them  face  to  face  with  the 


MARMADUKE  145 

glorious  line  of  coast  fading  away  into  a  golden  mist. 
Far  out  on  the  wide  expanse  of  sea  the  same  soft  Sep- 
tember mist  lay  like  a  veil,  hiding — what  ? 

Marrion  Paul,  sitting  hand-in-hand  with  the  one  love 
of  her  life,  did  not  even  ask  the  question ;  for  all  things, 
everything,  seemed  swallowed  up  in  a  golden  glory. 

Marmaduke's  voice  roused  her,  joyous,  confident. 

"  And  I've  got  a  wedding  present  for  you.  I  wouldn't 
give  it  you  before.  You  see  you  are  such  a  wilful 
customer,  I  was  afraid  you  mightn't  get  into  the 
chaise." 

Half-mechanically  she  opened  the  case  he  laid  on  her 
lap.  It  contained  two  very  long,  very  thick  plaits  of 
red-brown  hair,  each  held  together  by  an  entwined  mono- 
gram of  M's  in  brilliants.  She  looked  at  him  and  he 
looked  at  her  in  affectionate  raillery. 

"  Now  !"  he  cried  joyously.  "  You'll  be  fit  to  be  seen. 
You  didn't  think,  did  you,  I  was  going  to  let  your  hair 
be  appraised  by  those  young  fools  ?  So  that  day  we  left 
Edinburgh — you  remember  I  nearly  missed  the  train — 
I  raced  back  to  that  beast  of  a  hairdresser.  I  didn't 
know  till  then,  Marmie,  it  was  so  valuable;  but  it  was 
well  worth  it.  Then  I  had  it  set."  He  paused,  aware  of 
some  jarring  note,  and  added,  "  You  do  like  it,  dear, 
don't  you  ?" 

Marrion,  sitting  with  her  long  coils  of  hair  in  her  lap, 
felt  somehow  that  the  glamour  had  gone  from  the  gold 
of  earth  and  sky. 

"  Of  course  I  like  it,"  she  said,  making  an  effort,  "  but — 
but  why  the  diamonds  ?" 

He  laughed. 

"  Because  I  like  diamonds  and  I  like  you  to  look  well 

10 


146  MARMADUKE 

I — I  suppose  you  couldn't  twist  'em  up  somehow  now, 
could  you  ?     The  postillions  won't  see." 

She  removed  her  bonnet  and  deftly  coiled  the  long 
plaits  about  her  shapely  head. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  not  very  neat,"  she  said  solidly. 

But  he  was  more  than  satisfied. 

"  You  look  divine  !"  he  cried  exultantly.  "  More  like 
other  people,  you  know ;  and  I  dare  say  it  is  mean  of  me, 
but  your  close  crop  always  made  me  feel  bad,  because  you 
know  I  was  really  the  cause  of  it.  So  now  we  start  fair, 
don't  we  ?" 

"  Quite  fair,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile.  He  was 
such  a  child.     Yet  some  of  the  glamour  had  gone. 

END  OF  BOOK  I. 


BOOK   II 


CHAPTER  I 

"Mr.  Peter  Muir  wishes  to  know  if  he  can  see  you, 
ma'am,"  said  the  servant. 

The  woman  seated  at  a  table  by  the  window  in  the 
small  drawing-room  of  a  tiny  house  in  one  of  the  back 
streets  of  Belgravia  laid  down  her  work  and  rose.  It 
was  Marrion  Paul;  but  she  was  seven  years  older  and 
neither  face  nor  figure  had  quite  the  same  buoyant  youth- 
fulness.  Indeed,  as  she  crossed  to  the  fireplace  a  distinct 
limp  was  apparent.  Still  her  face  had  gained  in  beauty, 
and  the  masses  of  her  red  bronze  hair  glinted  bright  as 
ever.  Those  seven  years  of  life  had  been  hard  in  some 
ways;  but  they  had  been  happy  in  others — happy  most 
of  all  in  that  Marmaduke  Muir  was  well  and  content. 

Marrion  drew  an  easy-chair  to  the  fire  and  closed  the 
window,  knowing  her  visitor  to  be  chilly.  She  did  the 
latter  with  reluctance,  for  the  late  November  sunshine 
shone  golden  in  the  narrow  street,  and  the  somewhat 
mews-laden  atmosphere  of  those  back  purlieus  of  fashion- 
able houses  was  sweetened  as  it  filtered  through  the 
wide  boxes  of  trailing  musk  which  made  the  little  house 
with  the  brass  plate  bearing  its  legend, 

Mrs.  Marsden 
Layettes 

look  quite  countrified  and  summerlike. 

Peter  Muir,  coming  in  languidly,  complaining  of  the 
cold,  slipped  into  the  easy-chair  as  one  accustomed  to  it. 

149 


150  MARMADUKE 

He  also  was  older,  his  weak  face  showed  signs  of  recent 
ill-health ;  but  he  was  otherwise  the  loose  knit,  errant,  yet 
dandified  figure  he  had  been.  Dressed  in  the  height  of 
the  fashion,  his  blue-and-white  bird's  eye  bow  and  stiff 
stand  up  collar  seemed  the  most  striking  parts  of  his 
personality. 

"  This  place  is  the  only  peaceful  spot  in  all  the  town," 
he  sighed.  "  I  often  wish  I  were  back  in  the  little  room 
upstairs  where  you  nursed  me  so  patiently." 

"And  your  brother,  Major  Marmaduke,"  she  put  in 
kindly,  "  don't  forget  him,  Mr.  Peter.  If  it  hadn't  been 
for  him,  I  don't  believe  you  would  have  lived." 

Peter  Muir  fingered  his  nails  nervously. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  I  should.  You  see,  it  was  all 
Vienna.  It's  the  devil  of  a  place  for  a  young  fellow, 
especially  if  he  has  got  no  money — and  we  never  have 
any,  have  we?  But  that  is  really  the  reason  why  I've 
dropped  in  to  have  a  quiet  talk  with  you,  so  I  thought  I 
would  come  in  the  morning,  in  case  Marmaduke " 

"  I  haven't  seen  your  brother  for  ten  days,"  she  inter- 
rupted quietly.  "  I  believe  he  has  been  away  hunting  in 
Hampshire,  hasn't  he  ?" 

Peter  Muir  went  on  fingering  his  nails. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "  part  of  the  time."  Then  he 
suddenly  burst  out — "  I  don't  know  why  we  should  beat 
about  the  bush,  you  and  I.  You  were  a  perfect  Provi- 
dence to  me,  Marmie ;  I  used  to  call  you  that,  you  know, 
when  I  was  so  ill  and  the  doctors  swore  that  D.T.  must 
end  in  an  asylum.  Duke  means  a  lot  to  both  of  us, 
doesn't  he  ?  And  it's  about  him  I  want  to  speak.  You've 
noticed,  of  course,  that  he  is  hipped  and  out  of  spirits, 
haven't  you?" 


MARMADUKE  151 

"  No  one  could  help  noticing  that,"  she  replied  coldly. 

"And  he  says  it  is  because  the  old  man  of  the  sea  at 
the  Castle  won't  give  him  the  money  to  purchase  the 
colonel's  step,  I  suppose  ?"  asked  the  young  man  tenta- 
tively. 

"  That  is  the  case,  I  believe,"  she  replied,  even  more 
coldly.  "  There  was  the  same  difficulty  about  the 
majority." 

Peter  Muir  laughed  and  looked  at  her  quizzically. 

"  I've  often  wondered  how  that  was  done,"  he  said. 
"  But  this  time  it  isn't  quite  fair  on  the  baron.  To  give  the 
devil  his  due,  I  believe  he  is  quite  ready  to  fork  out  the 
money  if  Marmaduke  will  only  promise  to  marry  within 
the  year.  You  see  the  question  of  succession  is  becoming 
acute.  There  is  no  chance  of  an  heir  to  the  barony  from 
Pitt.  And  I— I— well,  let's  out  with  it !  I've  dished 
myself  with  the  peer  as  well  as  with  Providence.  It's 
my  damned  own  fault,  of  course,  but  there  it  is.  And  it 
isn't  as  if  there  was  not  a  real  picture  man  in  the  family 
whose  sons  should  do  credit  to  the  Castle." 

He  had  run  on  rapidly,  and  now  paused  to  look  at  his 
companion. 

"  And  does  the  Major  refuse  to  accept  the  conditions  ?" 
she  asked  quietly.     "  I  wonder  why  ?" 

Peter  Muir  felt  distinctly  injured  by  her  calm. 

"  So  do  I,  and  I  was  wondering  if " 

She  stopped  him  with  a  gesture  of  her  hand,  which  sent 
all  his  conventional  decorum  to  the  right-about,  and  left 
him,  a  man,  before  her  a  woman — left  him,  instead  of  an 
elaborate  detective,  a  reluctant  admirer. 

"  Mr.  Peter,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  don't  wonder  !  It  is 
very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  tell  me  the  truth — kind 


152  MARMADUKE 

also  to  try  and  find  me  out;  but,  believe  me,  I  do  not 
stand  in  your  brother's  way.  It  is  two  years  since 
Major  Muir  first  brought  you  here  to  me,  a  milliner 
living  by  her  work  only.  All  that  while  he  and  I  have 
been  good  friends — nothing  more.  I  had  no  claim  to  be 
anything  else.     Does  that  satisfy  you  ?" 

Peter  Muir  held  out  a  hot,  damp,  but  enthusiastic  hand 
to  meet  her  cool,  wholesome  one. 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure  if  it  does/'  he  said,  in  a  manner 
suddenly  and  to  her  painfully  reminiscent  of  Marma- 
duke.  "  You've  been  a  good  sight  more  to  him  than  any 
friend  has  been  to  me,  worse  luck !  Perhaps  if  I  had 
had  someone  like  you  in  a  peaceful  little  room  like  this — 
but  Marmaduke  always  had  the  devil's  own  luck.  How- 
ever, you  are  not  angry,  are  you  ?  Only  I  thought  it 
right  to  put  you  up  to  the  ropes  in  case " 

"  There  is  no  in  case  about  it,"  she  interrupted  quickly. 
"  I — I  make  no  claim."  She  rose,  passed  to  the  window, 
and  looked  out.  "  Has  Lord  Drummuir  any — any 
special  selection  for  his  future  daughter-in-law  ?"  she 
asked,  and  the  young  man  at  the  fireplace  jiggled  the 
seals  in  his  pocket  amusedly. 

He  knew  a  thing  or  two,  he  imagined,  about  women. 

" Not  so  far  as  I  am  aware  of,  at  present"  he  replied, 
negligently ;  "  but  the  consent  is  a  trifle  urgent,  for  the 
colonelcy  will  be  going  ere  long.  He  ought  to  make  up 
his  mind  soon  and  come  with  me  to  a  roaring  New  Year 
at  the  Castle — it's  always  a  bachelor  party — and  it  may 
be  his  last  chance.  So,  if  you  could  say  a  word  or  two — 
you  have  more  influence  over  Marmaduke " 

She  flashed  round  suddenly. 

"  I  used  to  have  some,"  she  corrected.      "  However, 


MARMADUKE  153 

thanks  very  many.  Now  let  us  talk  of  something 
else." 

After  her  visitor  had  gone  Marrion  Paul,  who  called 
herself  Mrs.  Marsden  on  the  door-plate,  threw  the  win- 
dow wide  with  an  air  of  relief  and  sat  down  once  more 
to  her  work.  It  was  an  infant's  cap  of  almost  incredibly 
fine  stitchings  and  embroideries ;  the  kind  of  cap  which, 
perched  on  slender,  white,  much-beringed  hands  would 
give  tremors  of  delightful  anticipation  to  rich  young 
wives  awaiting  motherhood.  On  the  table  were  strewn 
other  tiny  habiliments  dainty  and  delicate  beyond  com- 
pare; for  Mrs.  Marsden's  layettes  were  renowned. 
Nothing  crude,  nothing  out  of  place  came  from  her  skilful 
hands;  all  things  bore  the  indefinable  stamp  of  absorb- 
ing care  and  almost  divine  hope  that  the  little  unknown 
atom  of  life  to  come  should  have  garments  worthy  of  its 
mission. 

The  truth  being  that,  as  she  worked,  her  mind  always 
held  at  the  back  of  it  the  memory  of  a  certain  box 
upstairs  in  which  lay  the  first  baby  clothes  she  had  ever 
made — clothes  laboured  at  day  by  day  in  a  perfect 
heaven  of  happiness  for  her  child  and  Duke's,  the  poor 
little  dear  which  had  lost  its  life  in  the  effort  to  save  hers 
after  that  terrible  accident. 

It  had  not  been  Duke's  fault,  though  he  had  reproached 
himself  bitterly  at  first;  but  that  had  been  more  because 
of  her  consequent  lameness.  For  to  a  man  a  dead  baby 
does  not  count  for  much — not  even  if  no  other  follows  it — 
at  least  not  to  a  man  like  Marmaduke,  so  light-hearted, 
so  affectionate,  so  free  from  all  carping  cares  and 
thoughts. 

No,  it  had  been  her  fault  from  the  beginning.     She 


154  MARMADUKE 

should  have  held  her  own  as  she  had  done  for  his  good 
in  so  many  other  ways  before  and  since.  And  now,  after 
these  years  of  freedom,  was  the  tie  between  them — the 
unreal  tie  which  ought  never  to  have  existed — to  hold 
him  back  from  taking  his  rightful  place  in  life  ? 

Suddenly  she  folded  up  the  tiny  cap,  putting  it  by 
with  a  wistful  little  smile  and  a  pat  against  happier 
thoughts,  went  upstairs,  put  on  her  bonnet,  and,  leaving 
word  she  would  not  be  back  till  late,  passed  out  into  the 
street.  One  thing  was  certain,  she  must  avoid  seeing 
Marmaduke  until  her  mind  was  indelibly  fixed,  and 
there  was  always  a  chance  he  might  drop  in  to  see  her. 

London  in  those  days  was  a  dreary  spot  for  anyone 
requiring  a  quiet  place  wherein  to  look  Fate  in  the  face ; 
but  Marrion  knew  her  way  to  two  places  where  she  could 
secure  peace  and  quiet — the  National  Gallery  and  the 
reading-room  of  the  British  Museum.  She  had  often 
spent  long  hours  in  the  former,  not  moving  from  place  to 
place,  but  seated  before  some  masterpiece,  scarce  seeing 
it,  yet  vaguely  learning  something  from  it  which  had 
been  missing  in  her  life ;  but  to-day  she  chose  the  latter, 
as  being  farther  away,  and  it  was  time  she  wished  to 
kill — time  in  which  it  was  possible  to  hear  the  familiar 
step  on  the  stairs,  perhaps  to  be  greeted  by  some  affec- 
tionate jest  that  stockings  were  not  mended  or  that  new 
handkerchiefs  required  marking.  She  smiled  as  she 
thought  of  those  seven  long  years  during  which  she  had 
kept  this  man  as  comfortable  and  as  tidy  as  she  could, 
during  which  she  had  managed  for  him  as  well  as  any 
woman  could  have  managed,  and  tried  to  imagine  the 
estimation  in  which  such  devotion  would  be  held  by  the 
wives  and  mothers  for  whose  infants  she  worked.     She 


MARMADUKE  155 

was  a  constant  reader  at  the  Museum,  having,  when  she 
came  to  London,  set  herself  deliberately  to  gain  what 
she  had  perforce  missed  in  her  life,  so  she  found  a  place, 
sent  in  her  slip  for  a  book,  and  was  soon  apparently 
studying  it.  But  she  was  not  even  thinking.  In  the 
great  crises  of  life  one  does  not  weigh  pros  and  cons; 
decision  comes  from  outside  to  those  who  recognise  that 
there  is  something  beyond  one's  own  individual  life.  It 
is  those  who  do  not  see,  who  fail  to  recognise  the  spiritual 
plane,  who  cannot  distinguish  good  from  evil,  evil  from 
good,  who  err  past  forgiveness.  And  fr<pm  the  moment 
Marrion  Paul  had  heard  of  the  condition  on  which  old 
Lord  Drummuir  would  buy  the  colonelcy  she  had  known 
she  must  face  him  again.  The  only  question  was  when, 
and  how. 

The  sooner  the  better.  She  would  inquire  about  the 
journey  on  her  way  home. 

It  was  dark  ere  she  arrived  there  with  a  long  list  of 
startings  and  arrivals  in  her  hand,  and  a  new  sense  of 
elation  in  her  heart — the  elation  of  the  born  fighter  at  yet 
another  chance  of  battle. 

"The  Major  was  here  asking  for  you,  ma'am,  about 
five  o'clock,"  said  the  maidservant,  "  and  he  said  if  you 
could  let  him  have  two  or  three  white  ties  to-night  he 
would  be  obliged,  as  he  is  going  into  the  country  early 
to-morrow." 

Marrion  laughed.     So  much  the  better  for  her  plans. 

"  Take  a  hot  iron  to  the  dining-room,"  she  said,  "  and 
set  the  lace-board.  You  can  take  the  ties  round  to  his 
lodgings  after  supper." 


CHAPTER  II 

SEVEN  years  had  not  improved  old  Lord  Drummuir's 
temper,  neither  had  it  softened  the  arrogance  of  his  sway 
over  the  household.  Marrion  realised  this  in  a  second,  as, 
entering  the  study  under  the  name  of  Mrs.  Marsden — 
a  lady  who,  according  to  the  footman,  was — "  Oh,  yes, 
sir,  quite  young,  and  yes,  sir,  quite  good-looking ! "  and 
who  had  private  business  with  his  lordship,  she  found  her- 
self instantly  recognised  by  three  pairs  of  eyes.  One  the 
occupant  of  the  familiar  wheel-chair,  the  others  those  of 
my  lady  and  Penelope.  The  sight  of  the  latter  was 
unexpected,  for  though  Marrion  knew  her  grandfather 
had  died  the  previous  year  she  had  not  heard  of  Pene- 
lope's reinstallation  as  confidential  attendant  to  my  lady. 
It  was  not  an  arrangement  likely  to  occur  to  anyone  out 
of  Drummuir  Castle;  but  there  all  things  were  possible. 

In  the  instant's  pause  which  followed  on  her  entrance 
Marrion  had  time  to  note  that  the  old  man  had  changed 
but  little.  His  face  had  lost  somewhat  of  its  colour,  but 
the  look  of  absolute  domineering  power  was  strong  as 
ever.  My  lady  had  grown  stout — the  very  idea  of  a 
fandango  was  far  from  her  now — and  the  colour  had 
come  to  her  face  in  unbecoming  fashion.  Penelope,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  grown  thinner,  and  in  her  black 
dress  looked  prim  propriety. 

"  Well,  young  woman  ?"  began  his  lordship. 

156 


MMMADUKE  157 

It  was  a  signal  for  indignant  protest  from  those  two. 
"  Drummuir,"  shrilled  the  lady,  "  if  you  speak  to  that 
creature  I  must  leave  the  room  ! " 

Penelope's  answering  assent  was  audible  in  a  snort. 
The  old  man  fixed  them  with  a  stony  stare. 
"  I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to  do  so,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  with  suave  politeness.     "  Penelope,  open  the  door 
for  your  mistress." 

Marrion,  as  mechanically  she  stepped  aside  towards 
the  window  to  let  them  pass  out,  felt  that  nothing  was 
altered.  The  spider  was  master  of  his  web  still,  every 
stick  and  stone  of  the  old  place  existed  by  this  old  man's 
wicked  will.  And  it  was  this  heritage  she  had  set  her- 
self to  gain  for  the  man  she  loved !  A  spasm  of  repug- 
nance shot  through  her. 

Yet  surely  the  place  itself  was  glorious.  Her  glance 
speeding  northwards  took  in  the  same  old  familiar  view 
that  had  been  visible  from  her  window  in  the  keep-house ; 
the  grey  northern  sea  trending  away,  round  promontory 
and  point,  the  cliffs  looking  so  strangely  red  compared 
with  the  white  hills,  the  white  moors — for  snow  lay  thick 
everywhere.  In  those  long  years  of  London  life  she 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  snow  could  be  so  white. 
"  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as 
snow."     The  words  recurred  to  her  irrelevantly. 

The  old  man's  voice  roused  her. 

"  You  are  not  so  good-looking  as  you  were ;  and  you 
limp.     How's  that  ?" 

"  I  had  an  accident,"  she  replied  briefly. 

"And  why  do  you  call  yourself  Mrs.  Marsden?" 

"  Because  it  is  the  name  I  have  gone  by  for  some  years." 

"  Ever  since  I  last  saw  you — eh  ?" 


158  MARMADUKE 

"  Ever  since  you  last  saw  me — nearly/'  she  corrected. 
Then  there  was  silence. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "  what  is  it  all  about  ?  You 
have  come  for  money,  I  suppose — women  always  do. 
Tell  the  truth  solidly  please,  I've  no  time  to  waste." 

The  sneer  in  his  words  was  intolerable. 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  for  money,"  she  replied,  "  because 
your  son,  Major  Marmaduke  Muir,  married  me  six  years 
ago.     I've  brought  proofs  with  me." 

If  he  wanted  the  truth  he  had  got  it.  Bitter  as  she  was, 
however,  the  sudden  whiteness  of  the  old  man's  face 
made  her  sorry  for  him.  There  was  something  more 
than  anger  here.  That  turned  him  purple ;  yet  his  words 
were  resentful,  nothing  more. 

"  Then  he  is  a  damned  fool !" 

"You  didn't  write  so  to  him  seven  years  ago,  Lord 
Drummuir,"  she  began. 

"  H'm,  so  he  showed  you  the  letter,  did  he  ?  No,  you 
behaved  well  then — and,  by  God,  I  made  them  dance !" 
The  recollection  seemed  to  please ;  then  a  sudden  thought 
evidently  struck  him.     "  Any  children  ?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  One — a  boy — died.  Major  Muir  had  an  accident  in 
the  tilbury.  The  child,"  she  paused,  her  eyes  on  the  far 
stretches  of  dazzling  white  snow,  "  it — it  ransomed  my 
life.  I  shall  never  have  another."  Then  with  a  rush  all 
she  had  come  to  say  sprang  to  mind  and  lips,  she  held 
out  her  hands  appealingly.  "  Lord  Drummuir,  I  wish 
you  would  let  me  tell  my  story  !" 

"  Eh,  what  ?"  he  replied  peevishly.  "  Well,  curse  it  all, 
I've  been  plagued  by  the  gout  and  those  two  virtuous 
frumps  for   seven   months,  for   Jack    Jardine   has   the 


MARMADUKE  159 

jaundice,  and  you  were  deuced  amusing  last  time.  But, 
don't  stop  over  there — makes  me  cold  to  think  of  you. 
Sit  there,  by  the  fire,  and  take  off  your  bonnet ;  you  look 
better  without  it.  Women  with  good  hair  shouldn't 
wear  bonnets." 

She  sat  down  as  he  bade  her,  feeling  inclined  to  cry, 
he  reminded  her  so  much  of  Marmaduke. 

He  would  not  spare  her  any  details;  it  seemed  an 
amusement  to  him  to  hear  of  her  doubts,  her  scruples, 
and  he  laughed  aloud  when  she  told  him  how  two  years 
ago  she  had  dismissed  her  lover. 

"  Why  ?"  he  sneered.     "  Come,  out  with  it !" 

His  hard  clear  eyes  peered  into  hers. 

*  Because  I  didn't  want  to  injure  him,  and  I  don't  want 
to  injure  him  now,"  she  replied.  "  I  haven't  come  to 
claim  my  rights  as  his  wife." 

"  Then  what  the  devil  do  you  want,  my  lady  ?" 

"  I  want  you  to  do  as  you  did  before  and  give  him  the 
money  to  buy  his  colonelcy.  If  you  will  do  this  I  will 
never  claim  to  be  his  wife.  He  shall  be  as  free,  as  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  to  marry  whom  you  choose." 

Lord  Drummuir  sat  looking  at  her  with  hard  clear 
eyes. 

"And  if  I  don't,"  he  said  at  last,  "are  you  going  to 
threaten  me  with  this  bogus  marriage,  for  it  may  be 
bogus  for  all  I  know — eh,  what  ?" 

Marrion  felt  that  the  supreme  moment  had  come;  she 
must  stake  her  all. 

"  No,"  she  answered  quietly.  "  To  show  you  I  threaten 
nothing,  there  are  my  marriage  lines.  Burn  them  if  you 
will!" 

-She  sat  quite  still  while  the  old  man,  with  fingers  that 


160  MARMADUKE 

trembled  visibly,  unfolded  the  paper  she  gave  him. 
There  was  no  mistaking  its  worth.  In  Marmaduke' s 
bold  black  writing  were  the  words — 

"I,  Marmaduke  Muir,  second  son  of  Baron  Drummuir, 
of  Drummuir  Castle,  hereby  acknowledge  Marrion  Paul 
as  my  lawful  wife."  Underneath  in  her  finer  writing  was 
her  own  acknowledgment  of  her  tie  to  Marmaduke. 

The  old  man,  for  all  he  had  had  no  hopes  of  escape, 
was  wary. 

"  You  give  this  up  because  you  know  he,  my  fool  of  a 
son,  has  a  counterpart,  eh  ?     That's  about  it,  I  expect  ?" 

Marrion  flushed  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair,  but  she 
spoke  calmly. 

"  Yes,  your  son  has  the  counterpart "  she  began. 

The  old  man  burst  into  one  of  his  sudden  rude  guffaws. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  And  you  thought  you'd  take  in  the  old 
fox,  my  fine  madam!"  he  said,  then  paused  before  the 
passion  of  her  face. 

"  If  you  will  listen  you  will  believe  me.  I  could  claim 
to  be  his  wife  now  if  I  chose.  I  do  not  choose.  I  prefer 
that  he  should  lead  the  life  he  loved,  that  he  should  marry 
and  bring  you  the  heir  for  which — for  which  you  would 
sell  your  soul,  you  poor  old  man !  But  Marmaduke  is  a 
soldier  born;  if  he  misses  this  chance  he  will  be  a  dis- 
appointed man.  As  like  as  not  he  will  never  marry,  even 
though  he  knows  I've  set  him  free.  But  send  him  this 
money,  and  I  swear  to  you  the  counterpart  shall  be 
destroyed.  What  shall  I  swear  by  ?  I  swear  by  the 
poor  dead  baby  !"  She  paused.  "  Marmaduke  said  he 
was  so  like  you.   I  never  saw  him.   I  was  too  near  death." 

Her  voice  trailed  away  to  monotony.  The  old  man  sat 
staring  at  her,  an  odd  tremor  in  his  face. 


MARMADUKE  161 

"  I  swear  it  shall  be  destroyed,"  she  continued.  "  I — 
I  have  very  great  influence  over  your  son;  he — he  will 
do  what  I  ask." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  are  you  giving  him  up,  and  your 
prospects  here?  They're  not  to  be  sneezed  at  by  a 
woman  like  you  ! " 

The  phrase  nettled  her.  She  rose  and  stood  beside  him 
strong  and  steady. 

"  Lord  Drummuir,"  she  said  sarcastically,  "  I  know 
you  to  be  clever  and  I  thought,  being  a  gentleman,  that 
you  might  have  seen  the  truth  and  spared  me  the  pain 
of  that  question.  I  will  answer  it,  however.  It  is 
cause  your  son  never  loved  me.  He  is  very,  very  fond  of 
me.  He  has  been  so  ever  since  we  were  boy  and  girl 
together.  And  I  have  been  of  great  use  to  him.  But 
I  could  not  bring  love  into  his  life,  and  I  could  not  bring 
him  a  child.  So  it  did  not  seem  worth  while;  I  could 
only  stand  aside." 

There  was  a  pause.  The  old  man's  face  had  grown 
sharp  and  paler;  there  was  uncertainty  even  in  the  cruel 
lines  about  the  mouth. 

"  You're  rather  an  extraordinary  young  woman,"  he 
remarked  coolly ;  "  might  have  made  your  fortune  on 
the  stage.  Wish  Fd  met  you  there!"  He  grinned. 
"  But  now  to  business.  You  have  the  whip  hand,  of 
course — I  admit  that.  Now,  if  I  give  you — or  that  fool, 
my  son,  it's  the  same  thing — the  money  for  this  paper, 
you  promise  to  make  him  destroy  his  counterpart." 
"  I  promise,"  she  replied  eagerly.     "  I  can  make  him 

do  most  things " 

"  Except  love  you,"  interrupted  the  old  man,  with  a 
horrible  sneer;   but  the  next  instant  his  gouty  hand, 


162  MARMADUKE 

trembling  a  little,  was  outstretched  to  her  in  deprecation. 
"  Excuse  me,  that  should  not  have  been  said.  Well, 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  this  game  is  a  real  con- 
fidence trick.  You  must  have  heaps  of  evidence  up  your 
sleeve  if  you  chose  to  bring  it  forward.  But  I'll  chance 
that.  I  haven't  seen  many  of  your  sort  in  my  life.  If 
I  had,  I  mightn't  have  been  the  cursed  cripple  I  am; 
but  I've  had  a  rattlin'  good  life  of  it  and  I  don't  regret 
anything — except  having  begot  Pitt.  So  we  will  come 
to  terms.  I  will  send  the  colonelcy  money  to  Marmaduke 
on  condition  that  he  consents  to  marry  within  the  year. 
Is  that  agreed  ?" 

"Agreed,"  she  said  firmly. 

"  In  that  case  perhaps  you'll  oblige  me  by  ringing  the 
bell." 

She  did  so,  but  when  the  valet  appeared,  instead  of 
the  curt  order  to  show  her  out  Marrion  had  expected,  the 
old  man  commanded  the  instant  production  of  cake  and 
wine. 

"Nonsense!"  he  growled  decisively  to  her  protesta- 
tions. "It  is  devilish  cold.  You  haven't  on  warm 
enough  clothes,  and  you  don't  leave  this  house  without 
bite  or  sup,  if  only  because  your  father  Paul  was  a  deuced 
good  servant  to  my  poor  brother.  Good  fellow  was 
Paul— always  suspicioned  he  was  a  gentleman — think 
now  he  must  have  been.  Here" — the  valet  had  come 
and  gone,  leaving  the  tray  on  the  table — "  pour  yourself 
out  a  glass  of  port.  Won't  get  better  anywhere,  I'll  go 
bail.  Only  half  a  binn  left,  so  I  shall  finish  that  before 
I  die,  thank  God  !  Now,"  he  eyed  her  narrowly,  "drink 
to  the  health  of  Marmaduke  Muir's  son,  the  heir  to 
Drummuir !" 


MARMADUKE  163 

The  room  seemed  to  spin  round  for  a  moment.  Then 
without  a  quiver  she  drank  the  health,  put  down  her 
glass  and  turned  to  the  door.  Just  as  she  reached  it  the 
old  man  said — 

"  Good-bye.  Fm  damned  sorry  that  little  chap  of 
yours  died ;  he  would  have  been  game,  anyhow." 

She  gave  back  one  sudden  grateful  look,  and  the 
memory  of  what  she  saw  remained  with  her  till  the  day 
of  her  death.  The  pearly  whiteness  of  the  snow  outside 
showing  behind  the  mountain  of  diseased  flesh  swathed 
in  scarlet  flannel,  the  gouty  hands  in  the  act  of  tearing 
up  the  paper  they  had  been  holding,  a  cruel  smile  in  the 
old  grey  eyes,  despite  the  words  which  had  just  fallen 
from  the  cruel  lips. 

"Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white 
as  snow." 

The  phrase  recurred  and  recurred  as  she  tramped  her 
way  down  the  beech  avenue.  There  were  many  gaps  in 
it  now.  How  many  trees  would  be  left  when  Marma- 
duke's  heir  came  to  his  own? 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  swing  doors  leading  to  the  smoking-room  of  the 
fashionable  club  in  London  fell  back  with  a  slightly 
louder  thud  than  usual,  and  more  than  one  occupant  of 
the  room  looked  up — looked  up,  however,  to  smile,  for 
the  newcomer  was  a  universal  favourite.  It  was  Mar- 
maduke  Muir,  fresh  from  one  of  his  many  disappear- 
ances, for  he  was  quartered  at  the  new  camp  of  Alder- 
shot  and  his  London  visits  were  generally  but  a  pass- 
ing flash  on  his  way  to  find  sport  in  the  counties.  At 
seven-and-thirty  he  showed  almost  more  youthful  than 
he  had  done  at  seven-and-twenty,  for  he  was  thinner, 
more  alert,  and  the  laughter  in  his  face  seemed  to  belong 
to  him  more  absolutely.  For  the  rest  he  was  handsome 
beyond  compare,  and  dressed  faultlessly  in  a  taste  that 
had  sobered  itself  from  those  early  days  in  England 
when  Marrion  Paul  had  found  him  flamboyant.  There 
was  still  a  slight  exuberance  in  the  carnation  in  his  but- 
tonhole and  the  immense  size  of  the  cigar  he  drew  out 
of  his  case ;  but  the  case  itself  was  simple,  and  there  was 
a  simplicity  about  his  whole  bearing  which  disarmed 
criticism. 

"  What  you  b'in  after,  old  chap  ?"  said  an  occupant  of 
an  armchair,  laying  down  the  "Illustrated  London 
News,"  in  which  he  had  been  reading  the  pros  and  cons 
of  beard  and  moustachios  as  against  clean  shaving.    He 

164 


MARMADUKE  165 

felt  his  own  chin  doubtfully  as  he  looked  at  Marmaduke' s 
upper  lip ;  but  then  he,  of  course,  was  a  soldier. 

"Killin'  somethin',  I  bet,"  yawned  another.  "What 
was  it,  Duke  ?" 

"  Not  ladies,  anyhow,"  put  in  a  third.  "  Our  Adonis 
is  a  regular  misogynist;  and  yet,  just  look  at  his 
letters  —  faugh !  they  make  the  place  smell  like 
Truefitt's." 

"Better  than  your  fags,  anyhow,  Mac!"  laughed 
Marmaduke,  as  he  took  the  pile  of  notes  and  letters  which 
the  attendant  had  brought  in  on  a  salver.  Then,  as  he 
threw  himself  into  the  most  comfortable  chair  vacant,  he 
held  up  half  the  bundle  with  a  gay — "Anyone  like  them  ? 
They're  all  invitations,  I  expect,  and  I  have  to  go  back 
to-night!" 

"And  moneylenders,  Muir !  Don't  forget  Moses!" 
put  in  the  man  he  had  called  Mac. 

"  Not  so  many  of  them  either,"  retorted  Marmaduke, 
"  as  you  know  Jack  Jardine  keeps  us  going.  God  bless 
him !"  he  added  cheerfully. 

"Here,  hand  us  over  a  few,  Major!"  said  a  callow 
youth  who  lived  to  envy  the  more  fashionable  habitues. 

"No  go,  Smithers!"  remarked  another  youth  less 
sallow;  "even  Nathan  couldn't  make  you  up  to  his 
form." 

But  Marmaduke,  after  a  hasty  glance  at  the  super- 
scriptions, had  dexterously  flung  a  dozen  or  so  of  letters 
into  the  applicant's  tall  hat,  which  was  obstructing  the 
way  between  his  chair  and  the  next.  One  smaller  than 
the  rest  which  Marmaduke  had  overlooked  flew  over  it 
and  lay  on  the  carpet.  It  was  directed  in  an  uneducated 
hand. 


166  MARMADUKE 

w  Hullo,  pretty  milliner,  eh,  Duke  ?"  said  Mac,  taking 
it  up  and  opening  it.  "No,  no,  fair  play,  you  gave 
it " 

Marmaduke,  standing  over  him,  blushed  like  a  girl  as 
he  glanced  at  the  writing. 

"  It's  nothing,  Mac,"  he  began. 

But  Mac  was  not  to  be  put  off  in  a  moment. 

"'Respekted  and  Honerd  Sir' — can't  spell,  anyhow," 
he  read  out.  " '  The  money  as  you  scent  save  my  wife 
an*  children  from  blank  starvayshion ' " — he  turned 
round  and  looked  at  Marmaduke  reproachfully.  "  And 
you  owe  me  five  pounds,  you  d d  Christian  philan- 
thropist." 

Marmaduke  Muir  gave  an  apologetic  laugh. 

"  The  poor  devil  was  in  my  regiment  once — and  as  for 
the  five  pounds,  here  you  are.  I  had  a  stroke  of  luck 
down  in  Norfolk  at  loo " 

"Save  you  from  'blank  starvayshion/  eh,  Mac?" 
growled  a  man  who  also  owed  money  in  the  same  quarter, 
whereat  there  was  a  general  laugh,  for  Major  Macdonald 
was  known  to  be  near. 

Marmaduke,  opening  his  letters  rapidly,  put  most  of 
them  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  Invitations  from 
people  he  scarcely  knew  to  balls  and  dances,  others  to 
festivities  past  and  gone.  Some  few  he  put  in  his  pocket, 
and  one  he  sat  and  stared  at  as  he  smoked  his  cigar. 
Luncheon — one  o'clock — there  was  plenty  of  time;  and 
Louisa  Marchioness  of  Broadway  was  the  most  amusing 
old  lady  in  town.  An  old  friend  of  his  father's,  too, 
though  that  wasn't  in  her  favour.  Still  she  was  inter- 
ested in  the  family,  and  had  always  been  particularly 
kind  to  him. 


MARMADUKE  167 

An  hour  later,  therefore,  he  sat  waiting  his  hostess' 
appearance  in  the  tiny  drawing-room  of  one  of  that  row 
of  tiny  houses  which,  till  a  very  few  years  ago,  stood 
back  from  Knightsbridge  Road,  separated  from  it  by  a 
tiny  secluded  carriage-drive  of  their  own  and  opening 
out  with  little  narrow  strips  of  back  gardens  to  the  park. 
He  was  seated  at  the  window,  but  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  were  close  to  the  roaring  fire ;  indeed,  all  things  were 
close  to  each  other  in  the  small  room  where  the  big, 
central,  mid-Victorian  table,  with  its  broidered  table- 
cloth, solitary  vase  of  flowers,  and  besprinkling  books  of 
beauty  seemed  to  monopolise  all  space.  One  of  these 
same  books  of  beauty  lay  open  at  a  simpering  bottle- 
necked  portrait  subscribed  in  a  fine  feminine  hand, 
"Louisa  Broadway."  It  always  did;  the  servant  had 
orders  to  that  effect. 

"A  la  bonheuri  monsieur!"  came  a  voice  from  the 
door.  It  was  the  most  ancient  thing  about  Louisa 
Marchioness  of  Broadway.  All  else  was  open  to  mani- 
pulation and  the  manipulation  was  good.  She  did  not, 
however,  dye  her  hair.  Spiteful  folk  said  it  was  because 
powder  had  been  the  fashion  when  she  was  in  the  heyday 
of  her  beauty ;  but  she  was  a  very  clever  lady,  and  doubt- 
less she  realised  how  much  more  real  a  make-up  seems 
when  toned  to  white  hair  than  to  dark.  As  it  was,  the 
effect  was  still  charming,  and  her  figure  was  that  of  a 
girl  of  eighteen. 

"A  mot  Vhonneur"  quoth  Marmaduke  gallantly,  as 
he  advanced  to  kiss  the  old  lady's  outstretched  hand  and 
lead  her  to  a  chair. 

In  a  certain  set  at  that  time  there  was  a  fashion  for 
interpolating  French  into  English — one  of  the  signs  of 


168  MARMADUKE 

the  coming  war  which  was   darkening  the  horizon  of 
Europe. 

So  they  sat  and  talked  lightly  of  it,  and  of  the  Prince 
Consort's  unpopularity,  and  the  coming  opening  of  the 
King's  new  Royal  Palace  of  Westminster,  which  are  now, 
forgetfully    and    conveniently,    called    the    Houses    of 
Parliament,  until  luncheon  was  announced,  and  Marma- 
duke  had  to  pilot  his  hostess  down  the  narrow  stairs — 
a  difficult  task  which  he  felt  would  have  been  far  easier 
had  he  carried  her.     And  with  the  thought  came  in  a 
rush  that  delight  in  freedom,  that  fresh  enjoyment  of  the 
unconventional,    which    always    made    him    remember 
Marrion  Paul.     It  sobered  him  a  little  and  he  talked 
with  more  effort.     Not  that  it  mattered,  since  his  hostess 
was  all  sparkle  and  wit.     And  the  luncheon  itself  was 
everything  that  could  be  desired.     Marmaduke,  a  bit  of 
an  epicure  in  personal  matters,  found  the  snug  little 
horse-shoe  table,  with  its  curve  to  the  fire  so  that  you 
could  feel  the  warmth  while  you  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, very  conducive  to  comfort,  for  you  sat  undisturbed 
by  servings  behind  you.     All  that  went  on  in  front,  and 
you  could  see  what  was  handed  to  you  without  fear  of 
ricking  your  neck  or  getting  the  gravy  spilt  over  your 
clothes.     The  menuy  too,  if  sparse,  was  super-excellent. 
In  her  youth  Louisa  Broadway  had  been  Ambassadress 
at  various  European  Courts;  she  was  a  gourmet  .of  dis- 
tinction, so  it  was  quite  a  complacent  Marmaduke  who 
at  her  invitation,  after  the  servant  left  the  room,  turned 
his  chair  to  the  fire  and  joined  his  hostess  in  a  glass  of 
Madeira. 

"  And  now  for  business,"  she  said,  while  her  face  took 
on  a  new  expression  which  obscured  the  paint  and  the 


MARMADUKE  169 

prettiness,  and  left  it  wise  yet  kindly — wise  with  the 
wisdom  of  a  worldly  old  age.  "Now,  you  don't  sup- 
pose, do  you,  young  man,  that  I  asked  you  here  to  give 
you  a  good  lunch— you'll  admit  you  have  had  one,  I 
presume — and  talk  to  you  about  things  that  don't  really 
matter  a  brass  farthing  to  either  of  us?  For  what  do 
you  care  about  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  and  what  do 
I  care  about  scandals — I  have  had  plenty — de  tro-p,  in 
fact !  No,  I  brought  you  here  to  introduce  you  to  my 
grand-niece — Sibthorpe's  youngest  daughter.  She  will 
be  here  immediately,  and  I  want  you  to  marry  her." 
"Really,  Lady  Broadway  !"  flustered  Marmaduke. 
"Rather  crude,  I  admit,"  continued  his  hostess,  "but 
I  object  to  beating  about  the  bush,  especially  when  I 
want  to  get  inside.     The  fact  is,  Marmaduke,  I  have 

heard  from  your  father " 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  read  his  letters ;  they  are  not " 

began  the  son  stiffly. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  my  dear  lad,"  went  on  the  old  woman, 
"your  father  has  his  faults,  but  he  was  quite  as  good- 
looking  as  a  young  man  as  you  are — at  any  rate,  I 
thought  so.  Now,  he  wants  you  to  marry,  and  he  has 
every  reason  to  wish  it.  It  is  the  only  chance  of  an  heir 
to  the  title,  for  Peter's  last  escapade  has  about  finished 
his  hopes  in  that  quarter." 

"I  can't  discuss "  began  Marmaduke  very  stiff. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  !"  went  on  the  old  lady  imperturb- 
ably.  "We  are  en  petit  comite,  and  I'll  confess  to  being 
old,  very  old,  old  enough  to  be  your  great-grandmother. 
Now,  Marmaduke,  a  great-great-grandmother — did  I 
put  in  the  two  greats  the  first  time  ? — can  talk  over  things 
more  sensibly  than  even  a  great-great-grandfather.    You 


170  MARMADUKE 

see,  my  dear,  she  has  passed  through  it  all  and  left  it  all 
behind  her.  And  so,  my  dear  child — I  nursed  you  as  a 
baby,  remember — why  don't  you  marry?  Or  perhaps 
you  are  married  already  ?" 

There  was  an  exquisite  lightness  of  raillery  in  the 
suggestion  which  absolutely  barred  offence,  and  there 
was  kindness  in  the  keen  old  eyes.  Nevertheless,  Mar- 
maduke  was  uncomfortably  aware  that  they  took  in  his 
sudden  flush.  She  gave  him  no  time  for  interruption, 
however,  and  went  on  airily — 

"  For  all  I  know  the  heir  may  already  be  in  existence  ! " 
Here  Marmaduke  asserted  himself  with  great  dignity. 
"My  dear  madam,  if  I  had  any  children  I  should 
acknowledge  them !" 

Louisa  Lady  Broadway  smiled  gently.  She  had 
gained  one  piece  of  knowledge,  anyhow.  The  obstruc- 
tion, if  there  was  one,  was  a  childless  wife. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  my  dear,  but  I  knew  you  had  a 
good  heart,  or  I  wouldn't  have  risked  speaking  to  you. 
I  wouldn't  do  as  much  for  one  in  a  thousand.  Now,  my 
dear,  I  am  nearly  eighty  years  old,  and  I  understand 
things  as  perhaps  few  women  do  understand  them.  I 
don't  expect  many  men  have  lived  to  be  your  age  with- 
out forming  ties  of  some  kind,  especially  if  they  live  in 
Scotland,  Marmaduke" — the  thrust  went  home  again, 
she  thought  —  "but  money  does  a  lot,  especially 
when  there  are  no  children.  A  good  round  annuity 
means  much  when  a  man  is  not  well  off,  as  you  are,  and 
has  probably  to  wait  for  many  years  ere  he  falls  into 
money — as  you  have,  for  Pitt  is  the  heir,  of  course.     But 

your  father  would  find  the  cash " 

"  If  he  would  find  the  money  to  pay  for  my  colonelcy," 


MARMADUKE  171 

burst  in  Marmaduke,  "it  would  be  better  than  setting 
people  to  find  out  mare's  nests  !  I  don't  mean  to  be 
rude,  Lady  Broadway;  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  really 
can't  discuss " 

"I  think  you  can,"  interrupted  Louisa  Broadway  in 
her  turn,  "  especially  if  it  is  not  a  question  of  mere  money, 
and  money  is,  I  believe,  a  very  small  matter  to  some 
people — to  you,  for  instance,  Marmaduke !  You  never 
think  of  it,  do  you,  so  long  as  you've  got  it  ? — ha,  ha  ! 
But  there  are  other  considerations.  To  begin  with,  I 
believe  that  when  there  are  no  children  a  marriage  should 
automatically  become  null  and  void.  And  apart  from 
that  I  don't  believe  that  any  woman  who  really  loves  a 
man  would  ever  stand  in  his  light  or  prevent  him  from 
doing  his  duty.     I  am  sure  if  I  had  had  no  children,  and 

Broadway "     The  illustration,  however,  was  beyond 

even  her  powers  of  fiction,  and  the  opening  of  the  door 
brought  relief.  "  Oh,  here  is  the  young  lady  !  Amabel, 
let  me  introduce  Major  Marmaduke  Muir.  Major  Muir, 
Lady  Amabel  Sibthorpe.  I  expect  you  are  kindred 
spirits,  as  you  are  both  such  outdoor  people." 

The  girl,  who  had  rushed  in  somewhat  uncere- 
moniously, looked  up  frankly  into  Marmaduke's  blue 
eyes.     There  was  undisguised  admiration  in  her  glance. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "I've  always  wanted  to  know 
Major  Muir  since  I  saw  him  punish  a  horrid  little  boy 
in  the  park  for  bullying  his  dog  !" 

Marmaduke,  as  he  made  his  bow,  felt  that  the  clever 
old  lady  with  the  painted  face  was  very  clever  indeed. 
She  had  gauged  her  man  completely.  Most  people  on 
the  task  would  have  supplied  him  with  a  befrilled  fashion- 
able beauty;  the  sort  of  woman  with  whom  he  flirted, 


172  MARMADUKE 

who  amused  him,  attracted  him,  tempted  him.  But  this 
joyous,  buoyant  girl,  with  good-breeding  in  every  line 
and  feature 

No,  Louisa  Lady  Broadway  had  made  a  mistake ;  she 
had  reminded  him  of  Marrion  Paul. 

So,  after  the  shortest  interval  compatible  with  his  role 
of  charming  young  man,  he  took  his  leave  and  went  fum- 
ing back  to  his  lodgings  in  Duke  Street,  which  he  kept 
as  a  fied-a-terre  for  himself  and  Peter.  The  latter  was 
out,  so  Marmaduke  went  straight  up  to  his  bedroom  to 
change  his  London  things  for  his  uniform,  since  he  had 
to  report  himself  on  arrival  at  Aldershot.  There  was 
plenty  of  time,  but  he  meant  to  go  round  by  Marrion's 
first.     He  had  not  seen  her  for  over  ten  days,  and 

Despite  an  anger  at  interference  which  had  grown  in- 
stead of  diminishing,  old  Lady  Broadway's  words,  "a 
woman  who  loves  a  man  will  never  stand  in  his  light  or 
prevent  him  from  doing  his  duty,"  would  keep  recurring 
to  his  mind.  It  was  exactly  what  Marrion  had  said  to 
him  scores  and  scores  of  times.  Curious,  two  such  dif- 
ferent women  having  precisely  the  same  views.  Not  that 
they  mattered.  He  had  his  own.  Still,  half-mechanically 
when  he  was  dressed  he  took  out  of  his  despatch-box  a 
small  packet  of  papers,  and,  opening  one  of  the  en- 
velopes, began  to  read  the  contents.  One  sheet  was  the 
excerpt  from  the  visitors'  book  at  the  Cross-keys  Inn 
where  he  had  written  "  Captain  the  Honourable  Marma- 
duke and  Mrs.  Muir."  He  smiled  at  it  bitterly,  wonder- 
ing whether,  if  he  had  relied  on  that,  as  Marrion  had 
begged  him,  he  should  have  felt  as  bound  as  he  did  now. 
With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  folded  it  again  and 
thrust  it  back  into  the  envelope.     The  other  sheet  was 


M  A  It  M  A  D  U  K  E  173 

a  counterpart  of  the  paper  which  Marrion  Paul  had,  un- 
known to  him,  given  to  his  father.  He  sat  staring  at  it 
almost  stupidly  until  a  knock  came  to  the  door,  when  he 
hastily  replaced  it  and  put  the  bundle  in  his  breast- 
pocket. The  new-comer  was  Andrew  Fraser,  and  he 
carried  a  letter. 

"  I  was  roond  tae  the  club,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  salute, 
"  as  I  thocht  it  might  be  o'  importance  seem*  it  was  frae 
the  castle ;  but  you  was  awa." 

The  man's  face  was  as  ever,  full  of  devotion  and  duty. 
The  past  seven  years  had  brought  him  many  an  anxiety, 
many  an  agony,  but  he  had  stuck  by  the  two  beings  he 
loved  best  on  earth  with  a  steadfastness  beyond  all 
praise. 

"All  right,  Andrew,"  replied  his  master  cheerily, 
"pack  up,  will  you,  and  take  the  things  to  the  station. 
I'm  going  round  by  Mrs.  Marsden's." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  servant  quietly. 

He  had  been  discretion  itself  all  these  years,  ever  since 
Marrion  had  come  to  him  one  day  and  told  him  the 
truth,  that  she  was  married.  If  she  had  not  so  told  him, 
what  would  he  have  done  ?  His  simple  soul  could  never 
answer  the  question. 

Meanwhile,  Marmaduke  in  a  cab  was  reading  his 
father's  epistle,  which  ran  thus — 

"  My  Dear  Marmaduke, — I  believe  you  are  my  son, 
so  I  expect  you  to  give  this  letter  your  earnest  considera- 
tion. As  you  are  aware  there  is  no  heir  to  the  title  or 
estate.  I  had  the  misfortune  to  beget  a  creature  who 
calls  himself  the  Master  of  Drummuir  and  is  not  the 
master  of  anything.     Then  there  is  Peter,  a  promising 


174  MARMADUKE 

boy  whom  you  have  ruined  by  providing  him  with  an 
attacheship  at  Vienna,  a  place  which  did  for  his  uncle 
whom  he  greatly  resembles.  The  accounts  of  the  physi- 
cian concerning  his  health  are  simply  disastrous.  He 
has  narrowly  escaped  an  asylum  for  life.  This  being  so, 
it  is  imperative  that  you  shall  marry  and  produce  an 
heir  for  the  estate.  I  see  by  various  letters  of  yours  (un- 
answered) that  you  are  again  in  want  of  money  to  pur- 
chase your  promotion  to  colonel.  It  is  a  nefarious,  a 
reprehensible  swindle  which  should  be  abolished,  and  to 
which  I  should  never  yield  were  it  not  that  I  wish  to 
strike  a  bargain  with  you — namely,  I  will  purchase  your 
colonelcy,  if  you  will  consent  at  once  to  seek  out  a  suit- 
able wife  and  marry  her  within  the  year.  If  you  accede 
to  this  most  reasonable  request  I  will  send  a  cheque  to 
your  bankers  and  I  shall  expect  to  see  you — and  Peter 
also  if  he  is  really  sane — here  for  Christmas. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"Drummuir. 

"  P.S. — Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  it  is  deuced  dull  here 
with  those  two  virtuous  frumps,  my  Lady  and  Penelope. 
They  were  more  amusing  when  they  were  young.  But 
if  you  come — and  why  shouldn't  you  ? — we'll  have  a 
regular  rouser." 

Marmaduke  read  this  letter  over  twice.  It  was  the 
kindest,  most  reasonable  one  he  had  ever  had  from  his 
father.  And  the  postscript  touched  him.  Its  very  frank- 
ness made  him  realise  what  life  must  now  be  to  one  who 
in  his  youth  had  been  "quite  as  good-looking  as  you 
are." 

Old  Lady  Broadway's  words  recurred  to  him  as  he 


MARMADUKE  175 

stood  at  the  little  door  with  its  brass  name-plate  waiting 
for  admission.  And  if  he  got  his  colonelcy  and  the 
command  of  the  regiment  ?     If  there  was  going  to  be 

war ? 

But  was  there  going  to  be  war  ?  He  felt  a  little  as  if 
he  had  to  face  an  enemy  as  he  ran  upstairs  two  steps  at 
a  time. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BUT  upstairs  all  was  peace,  and  Marrion,  the  light  of  the 
lamp  on  her  bronze  hair,  beautiful  as  ever,  looked  up 
from  her  work,  her  face  bright  with  pleasure. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  !  I  was  expecting  you,  for  Andrew 
was  round  this  afternoon  and  told  me  you  were  in  town." 

He  did  not  go  up  to  her  or  greet  her ;  only  smiled  con- 
tent and  sank  into  the  easy-chair  placed  between  where 
she  sat  and  the  fire.  The  big  table  wheeled  cosily  into 
the  corner  was  littered  with  lace  and  muslin.  He  took 
up  a  small  pinafore  and  looked  at  it  distastefully. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  work  so  hard,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, "and  I  hate  to  see  you  busy  over  those  things; 
it  reminds  me "  he  broke  off. 

She  laid  down  the  little  frock  she  was  embroidering  on 
the  instant,  and  went  to  kneel  beside  him ;  for  her  insight 
into  this  man's  moods  was  complete,  and  she  felt  what 
was  coming. 

"  And  it  reminds  me  too,  Duke.  That  is  why  I  love 
it.  I  have  told  you  so  often  it  was  nobody's  fault;  if 
anybody's,  mine." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  You  can't  make  me  believe  that." 

"  But  it  is  true.  See  here,  Duke,  I  ought  never  to  have 
allowed  you  to  bind  yourself.  It  put  me  in  a  false  posi- 
tion. I  was  too  anxious  to  please,  too  anxious  to  pay 
you  back  the  gift,  as  it  were,  so  I  did  what  I  ought  not 

176 


MARMADUKE  177 

to  have  done.  I  thought  of  you,  not  of  the  child.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  going  over  it  all  again  ?  It  is  past 
and  done  with." 

He  sat  with  his  hands  between  his  knees  for  a  minute, 
looking  at  the  fire. 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  the  poor  little  chap  died." 
It  gave  her  the  opening  she  needed. 
"  That  is  what  your  father  said  when  I  told  him,"  she 
said  quietly. 

He  stared  at  her. 
"My  father!" 

"Yes,  Duke,  I  have  been  to  see  him  again.  He  was 
quite  kind.     Sit  still  and  I  will  tell  you  everything." 

And  she  told  him  though  she  saw  his  face  grow  stern 
and  angry. 

"You  had  no  business  to  do  it,"  he  said,  when  she 
finished.  "  Can't  you  even  leave  me  to  manage  my  own 
affairs?  I  didn't  interfere  with  yours  when  you  broke 
away  and  set  up  on  your  own,  did  I  ?" 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  Marmaduke,"  she 
replied,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice,  "  and  I've  tried  to  be 
as  good  to  you." 

The  memory  of  many  a  helping  hand,  of  long  years  in 
which  this  woman's  companionship  had  been  an  anchor 
to  him,  came  to  appease  his  easy  nature. 

"  Well,  it  is  no  use  being  angry,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  the 
thing's  done.  And  you  really  destroyed  your  lines?" 
"  Your  father  tore  them  up.  He  quite  agreed  with  me 
that  as  I  had  no  children,  and  there  was  no  chance 
of  one — at  any  rate,  of  a  living  one — that  I  was  bound  to 
release  you.  And  I  am  bound.  I  refuse  to  be  your 
wife." 

12 


178  MARMADUKE 

"  And  if  I  claim  you  ?"  he  said  swiftly,  resentment  in 
his  voice. 

She  smiled. 

"  I  shall  still  refuse  you,  then  in  three  years  we  shall  be 
automatically  divorced." 

"In  Scotland  only.  You  are  very  clever,  my  dear, 
but  you  forget  some  things." 

His  deft  diversion,  however,  had  done  its  work,  the 
subject  was  no  longer  personal. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  he  continued.  "  I  can't  leave  you 
in  the  lurch." 

"You  don't.  Look  at  it  clearly,  please.  Since  we 
agreed  to  separate " 

"I  never  agreed,"  he  put  in  angrily.  "I  was  quite 
ready  to  fulfil " 

"  The  bond,"  she  interrupted  a  trifle  bitterly,  "  and  I 
wasn't  or  couldn't.  But  ever  since  then — and  before 
then,  too — before  you  came  home,  I  kept  myself.  And 
I'm  quite  rich,  Duke.  I  have  money  in  the  bank.  There 
is  no  fear  for  me." 

"Is  it  all  money?"  he  said  tragically,  gloomily. 

She  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  knee;  the  touch 
thrilled  her  through  and  through,  but  he  sat  unmoved, 
looking  at  the  fire. 

"You  can  give  me  all  you  have  ever  given  me  still, 
dear,"  she  said ;  "  there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
continue  to  be  friends." 

There  was  a  long  pause.     Then  she  began  again — 

"  I  promised  your  father  you  would  destroy  the  coun- 
terpart. Duke,  it  is  far  better  done.  You  will  feel  free, 
and  you  don't,  somehow,  now,  though  I  hoped  you 
would.     And  I  shall  be  glad.     A  woman  who  loves  a 


MARMADUKE  179 

man  cannot  bear  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  doing  his 
duty — and  this  is  your  duty " 

He  turned  to  her. 

"Just  what  that  old  harridan  said.  Curious  you  two 
should  agree — and  you're  so  different !" 

"What  old  harridan?" 

"Lady  Broadway.  She  has  been  at  me,  too.  Why 
can't  you  women  leave  a  man  alone  ?  She  wants  me  to 
marry  her  niece,  Lady  Amabel." 

Marrion  felt  a  sudden  spasm  of  elemental  jealousy. 
Self-sacrifice  was  exhilarating  in  the  abstract,  in  the 
concrete  it  was  painful. 

"  Did — did  you  see  her  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes — nice  little  girl.  But — but  if  this  is  to  be,  how 
will  you  manage  about  Andrew  ?  You  had  to  tell  him, 
if  you  remember." 

She  remembered  right  well ;  remembered  how  even  the 
man's  fidelity  to  his  master,  his  devotion  to  her,  would 
not  stand  the  strain  of  what  he  thought  wrong-doing. 
The  difficulty  had  occurred  to  her  before,  but  she  set  it 
aside  now  as  of  small  importance  in  comparison  with 
the  destruction  of  the  paper. 

"Til  manage  Andrew,"  she  replied,  "if  you  will 
only " 

He  stood  up  tall  and  strong  and  curiously  antagonistic. 

"You  are  always  managing,  Marmie.  Some  day 
you'll  find  you've  made  a  mistake.  But  if  you  will  have 
it  so,  I  happen  to  have  the  paper  with  me."  He  took  out 
his  pocket-book  and  handed  her  an  envelope.  "You 
can  do  as  you  like  with  it.  Oh,  it  is  the  right  one !"  he 
added  impatiently.  "I  was  looking  at  it  just  now*  I 
am  not  always  a  fool !" 


180  MARMADUKE 

She  paused  in  a  half-unconscious  search  induced  by 
her  knowledge  of  Marmaduke's  careless  habits.  The 
contents  of  the  envelope,  half-pulled  out,  showed  her  the 
printed  heading  "Cross-keys  Inn."  She  thrust  them 
back  hurriedly  and  dropped  the  whole  into  the  fire.  It 
flamed  up  showing  his  face  full  of  irritation,  hers  of 
decision.  (They  watched  it  flame,  fade,  sparkle  out. 
Then  he  turned  away. 

"  You've  made  me  feel  a  scoundrel  somehow,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  suppose  I  shall  get  over  it  in  time/' 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  that,"  she  flared  out.  "  You've 
no  right  to  put  that  thought  into  my  life.  We  have  done 
our  duty." 

"Well,  don't  let's  part  in  anger,  anyhow,"  he  said 
kindly.     "I  shan't  see  you  for  some  time.     I'm  on  duty, 

and  then  I  shall  go  north  for  Christmas,  and  then " 

"  And  you  will  get  your  colonelcy,"  she  added. 
He  smiled. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  get  it,  thanks  to  you  again.  Ah,  Marmie, 
Marmie,  it's  no  use  your  trying  to  unbind  Tristram 
Shandy  and  the  Shorter  Catechism !  We  were  mixed 
up  together  right  away  in  the  beginning  of  things,  and 
we  shall  be  mixed  up  in  the  end,  you'll  see.  Now  I  must 
be  off.     Good-bye !" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  took  it  and  gripped  it 
fast,  every  fibre  of  her  athrill  with  the  dear  touch.  Her 
whole  soul  seemed  for  the  second  to  crave  for  him,  for 
his  presence  always.  And  he  was  going  away,  out  of 
her  life  for  ever.  For  she  was  wiser  than  he  was.  She 
knew  that  her  talk  of  continued  friendship  was  a  sham ; 
one  of  the  many  baits  she  laid  so  often  to  get  her  own 
way.     Ah,  how  weary  she  was  of  cutting  and  contriving 


MARMADUKE  181 

Dame  Nature's  plain,  honest  web !  Well,  she  would 
have  to  do  it  no  longer ;  it  would  be  another's  task.  But 
there  was  one  thing  he  had  said  which  was  not  to  be 
endured,  which  could  not  be  allowed  to  pass. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  "and  don't  please  feel  like  a 
scoundrel.  You  never  did  a  better  deed  in  your  life. 
You  have  done  your  duty  like  an  honest  gentleman,  and 
— and  I'm  proud  of  you  !" 

"That's  something,  anyhow,"  he  said,  and  was  gone. 

She  sat  down  and  began  stitching  away  at  a  little 
gown  she  was  making.  It  had  to  be  finished  that  night, 
for  the  christening  of  the  infant  for  whom  it  had  been 
bespoken  was  on  the  morrow.  And  the  task  soothed 
her.  For  the  more  ordinary  parts  she  had  apprentices 
duringthe  day  who  worked  downstairs,  but  all  the  distinc- 
tive features  of  the  marvellously  delicate  little  garments 
came  from  her  own  clever  fingers.  That  evening,  as  she 
worked  away  at  a  tiny  wreath  of  snowdrops  for  another 
woman's  child,  every  atom  of  her  went  out  in  unavailing 
regret  for  the  little  life  that  had  gone  to  save  her  own. 
She  was  not  worth  it — nothing  was  worth  it.  Those 
men — father  and  son — might  say  "  I  am  sorry  the  little 
chap  died  !"  but  did  they,  could  they,  would  they,  realise 
what  it  meant  to  a  woman  that  something  very  precious, 
something  which  she  was  bound  to  protect,  for  which  she 
ought  to  have  given  her  heart's  blood,  had  given  her  its 
own  instead  ? 

Well,  she  had  paid  for  it  since  to  the  uttermost 
farthing.  She  had  no  illusions.  Marmaduke  had  gone 
out  of  her  life  for  ever. 

Not  entirely,  however,  for  at  Christmas  time  one  of  his 
long  breezy  letters  came  to  her — for  Marmaduke  was  a 


182  MARMADUKE 

great  letter-writer — telling  her  about  all  her  old  friends 
in  the  neighbourhood;  a  charming,  cheerful  epistle,  full 
of  awed  wonder  at  the  extreme  stoutness  and  sanctity 
of  "stepmamma"  and  the  rigorous  respectability  of 
Penelope. 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,"  he  wrote,  "  I  feel  sorry 
for  the  old  man,  and  I  begin  to  think  we  did  right, 
Marmie.     In  fact,  I'm  sure  we  did." 

Her  lip  hardened  as  she  read.     Undoubtedly  they  had 

done  right,  but 

She  sewed  harder  than  ever,  wishing  that  the  whole 
thing  was  settled  and  done  with.  Then  there  would  be 
no  more  letters  to  bring  pain. 

Fate,  however,  had  other  things  in  store  for  her,  for 
just  after  the  New  Year  Andrew  Fraser  appeared  in  her 
small  drawing-room.  He  came  in,  tall,  gaunt,  hard- 
featured  as  ever,  stood  at  the  door  and  saluted,  as  he 
had  done  ever  since  Marrion  in  self-defence  had  told  him 
that  she  and  his  master  were  fast  married. 

"Back  so  soon!"  she  cried.  "I  thought  the  major 
was  to  be  longer  at  the  castle." 

"He  is  the  colonel  now,"  returned  Andrew  gloomily, 
"an'  we  are  awa  tae  Portsmouth  the  day.  But  I  cam', 
Marrion,  tae  tell  ye  that  the  domed  fowk  in  the  ha'  at 
Drummuir  were  sayin'  'he  was  tae  get  marriet  tae  Lady 
Amabel/     An'  that  canna  be/ 

"  Lady  Amabel,"  echoed  Marrion,  glad  in  a  way  of  a 

surprise  which  enabled  her  to  make  a  diversion,  at  any 

rate,  for  a  time.     "  He  didn't  say  anything.     I  thought 

it  was  to  be  a  bachelor  party." 

Andrew  snorted  a  vexed  denial. 

"  Sma'  count  o'  that !     The  auld  peer  had  gotten  Lady 


MARMADUKE  183 

Penrigg,  the  railway  man's  wife,  tae  gi'  him  countenance 
wi'  the  gentry,  and  there  was  the  Marchioness  o'  Broad- 
way and  the  young  leddy — a  nice,  straight-speakin' 
girlie.  An'  it  was  a*  decent  and  God-fearin'  with  curlin' 
and  skatin'  and  sleighin'  an'  songs  an*  forfeits  in  the 
evenin\  Dewar,  my  lord's  valet,  tell't  me  he  had  never 
heard  the  Baron  swear  sae  awfie  as  he  did  when  he  got 
tae  his  own  room  o'  nichts.  It  jest  turned  him  cauld. 
But  it  was  lying  on  the  poor  falla's  stummick  a'  day. 
Hoo'ever  I  didna  come  for  that." 

"And  the  major — I  mean  the  colonel,"  interrupted 
Marrion  hastily,  "did  he  enjoy  himself?" 

It  was  an  unwise  remark,  for  it  hastened  what  she 
wished  to  avoid. 

"Ower  much,  mayhap,"  put  in  Andrew,  taking  a  step 
nearer  her,  his  little  grey  eyes  looking  at  her  with  pathetic 
earnestness.  "  Marrion,  my  dear,"  he  went  on,  I've  helt 
ma  tongue  a'  these  years,  relying  on  your  word  that  ye 
had  your  lines  safe.  Not  that  they  matter  sae  much, 
since  I  can  swear  to  yer  bein'  man  and  wife — aye,  and 
mayhap  bring  ithers  tae  swear  it,  too.  But  I'm  no  satis- 
fied, an'  that's  God's  truth.  Ye  ken  fine  that  by  a'  the  laws 
o'  God  and  man  ye're  bound  together,  an'  surely  ye're  no 
seekin'  to  get  past  the  responsibility  that  ye  took  upon 
yersels  ?" 

There  was  something  merciless  in  the  stern  solid  figure 
before  her ;  but  Marrion  had  courage,  and  faced  her  task. 

"Sit  down,  Andrew,  and  let  me  explain,"  she  began, 
but  he  stood  to  attention  more  rigidly,  and  with  a  fore- 
cast of  failure  in  her  mind  she  went  through  the  whole  set 
of  arguments  she  had  used  with  success  on  Marmaduke. 
But  here  she  had  different  metal  to  weld. 


184  MARMADUKE 

"  Ye  took  it  upon  yersels,"  he  reiterated.  "  It  was  the 
Lord's  doin'  that  the  poor  wee  bairnie  didna  live.  It's 
ill  tryin'  tae  get  the  better  o'  Providence." 

The  hopelessness  of  influencing  him  made  her  at  last 
try  an  appeal  to  his  personal  devotion  to  her;  but  his 
reply  sent  her  crimson  to  her  very  heart-strings. 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there,  Marrion.  If  ye  was 
twenty  times  free  by  yere  ain  makin',  I  wadna  take  yer 
love  at  a  gift." 

The  most  she  could  get  out  of  him  was  a  promise  to 
wait  and  say  nothing  till  there  was  more  than  mere  ser- 
vants'-hall  gossip  to  go  by.  He  left  her  wearied  and 
vexed,  sorry  that  she  had  not  been  able  to  get  him  to  hear 
reason,  yet  knowing  that  she  was  sure  of  her  own  ground, 
since,  if  she  and  Duke  both  refused  to  acknowledge  mar- 
riage there  could  be  no  possible  claim  by  anyone  else. 
Only  to  take  up  this  ground  would,  she  foresaw,  make 
Andrew  into  an  enemy.  Besides,  it  would  be  a  confes- 
sion of  failure  on  her  part,  and  the  years  had  brought  so 
much  success  to  her  in  all  her  managements  that  the  idea 
of  defeat,  even  in  a  small  thing,  was  irksome. 

So  for  a  day  or  two  more  she  sat  and  worked  while  all 
the  noise  of  London  was  deadened  by  the  snow  which 
defied  man's  effort  to  remove.  In  her  quiet  little  street 
she  felt  as  if  she  were  wrapped  away  in  a  white  winding 
sheet  from  all  the  interests  of  the  world — waiting,  wait- 
ing, waiting.  It  would  come  at  last,  of  course.  The 
Court  Journal  would  have  the  announcement  of  an  im- 
pending marriage  in  high  life.  Then,  if  Andrew  were 
still  inflexible,  she  must  tell  him  he  had  no  power.  And 
then — and  then — and  then  ? 

Her  mind  busied  itself  in  plans,  in  conjectures,  more 


MARMADUKE  185 

from  habit  than  from  any  hope  of  action ;  for  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  she  knew,  and  she  was  always  telling  herself, 
that  she  had  said  good-bye  to  Duke  for  ever. 

Yet,  as  has  been  said,  Fate  had  willed  otherwise.  Less 
than  a  week  after  Andrew's  visit,  she  stood  up,  her  heart 
beating,  at  a  well-known  step  coming  up  two  stairs  at  a 
time,  and  there  was  Duke !  A  Duke  such  as  she  had 
always  dreamt  he  should  be — radiant,  rejoicing — a  per- 
fect specimen  of  manly  beauty.  He  was  in  the  full-dress 
uniform  of  his  Highland  regiment,  and  he  flung  his 
bonnet  in  among  the  laces  and  muslins,  as  if  the  whole 
world  were  his. 

"We're  off  to  Constantinople  to-morrow,"  he  said 
joyously,  "and  I  had  to  come  and  say  good-bye.  Oh, 
my  dear,  my  dear,  what  a  relief  it  is — every  way  !" 

She  gasped.  , 

"  But  war — war  hasn't  been  declared  yet !" 

"And  won't  be  for  another  two  months,"  he  inter- 
rupted, "  but  for  all  that  we  are  sending  our  troops.  It's 
kept  secret,  of  course,  but  my  regiment  is  in  it.  It  seems 
too  good  to  be  true  !" 

"And — and  Lady  Amabel?"  asked  Marrion,  a  grip  at 
her  heart. 

He  laughed  joyously. 

"No  harm  done.  You  see  the  War  Office  told  me 
when  I  got  the  colonelcy  this  was  up,  and  it  wouldn't 
have  been  fair.  So  we  were  very  good  friends.  She  is 
a  dear  little  girl,  and  if  I  come  home — but  that's  to  be 
seen.     Now,  ah,  how  glad  I  am  to  be  free  !" 

The  words  cut  deep,  spoiling  the  relief  at  Marrion's 
heart ;  but,  after  all,  why  should  he  not  be  glad  ?  He 
was  going  to  do  a  man's  work. 


186  MARMADUKE 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  the  colonelcy,"  she  said  soberly ; 
it  was  the  only  consolation  she  could  find  for  herself. 

"Glad!"  he  echoed.  "I  should  think  I  was!  It's 
been  the  dream  of  my  life.  And  do  you  know  the  old 
man  was  really  quite  reasonable  about  it.  We  talked  the 
thing  over,  and  I  told  him  what  we  had  done,  and  were 
prepared  to  do — or  rather  not  to  do.  Of  course  he  was 
in  a  fury  about  the  foreign  service,  but  he  saw  I  couldn't 
shirk,  so  I've  promised  and  vowed  everything  he  wanted. 
And  now" — his  eyes  shone,  content  seemed  to  radiate 
from  him — "  I  feel,  Marmie,  as  if  I  were  beginning  a  new 
life.  Tve  only  had  to  obey  orders  hitherto,  and  deuced 
stupid  many  of  them  have  seemed  to  me ;  but  now  I  am 
head  and  the  men  are  splendid — they'd  follow  me  any- 
where.    So — so  we  are  going  to  do  something,  I  expect." 

The  light  in  his  eyes  had  steadied,  he  took  up  his 
bonnet,  then  stood  for  a  moment  looking  at  her,  the  em- 
bodiment of  a  soldier  of  fortune  going  out,  careless,  to 
seek  adventure. 

"And  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "are  you 
sure  you  can  manage  ?" 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  replied  cheerfully.  "  Perhaps  I  shan't 
stop  here.     I  may  want  to  see  the  world,  too." 

He  laughed. 

"  I  believe  you'd  like  to  don  boy's  clothes  like  Rosalind 
and  follow  me  to  the  wars !  By  Jove,  what  a  Rosalind 
you'd  make!" 

His  happy  carelessness  hurt. 

"  You  forget  I  am  lame,"  she  said,  a  trifle  bitterly. 

His  face  fell. 

"  That  isn't  kind,"  he  protested,  "  not  at  the  last !  Don't 
send  me  away  feeling  that  I  have  been  a  ruffian  to  you." 


MARMADUKE  187 

Her  composure  gave  way  then.  With  a  little  cry  she 
put  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"You  have  nothing  to  reproach  yourself  with,  my 
dear,  my  dear!  Go! — forget  all  about  women!  Go! 
You've  done  your  best,  so  fight  your  best !" 

He  gave  her  back  her  kiss  as  he  might  have  given  it  to 
his  sister. 

"Yes,  Marmie,"  he  said,  "Tin  beginning  to  think  we 
really  did  the  right  thing,  for  we  can  be  friends  all  the 
same ;  for  the  present,  at  any  rate." 

His  mixture  of  wisdom  and  foolishness  made  her  smile 
at  him,  as  some  mothers  might  smile  at  a  high-spirited 
boy,  and  she  watched  his  martial  figure  go  swinging 
down  the  street,  its  flamboyance  admissible,  admirable, 
and  told  herself  it  was  good  that  he  was  free  both  of 
herself  and  Lady  Amabel. 


CHAPTER  V 

He  sent  her  a  letter  from  Malta,  a  very  long  letter  crossed 
and  recrossed.  Evidently  time  had  hung  heavy  on  hand 
once  the  wonders  of  being  on  a  steamship  had  passed. 
"  It  will  revolutionise  war,"  he  wrote,  "  if  we  can  rely  on 
getting  reinforcements  regularly.  It  was  different  when 
we  had  to  count  on  hurricanes  and  doldrums."  And  he 
had  a  quick  eye  for  weak  points  in  the  armour.  "  Here 
we  are  after  eleven  days'  hard  steam,  and  here,  so  far  as 
any  one  knows,  we  are  likely  to  remain.  Nothing  seems 
to  have  been  arranged  for  a  forward  movement ;  neither 
has  any  provision  been  made  for  the  hunger  of  fifteen 
thousand  troops  plumped  down  on  a  practically  desert 
island.  However,  they  say  a  cattle  transport  is  imme- 
diately expected  from  Alexandria,  so  we  should  have 
enough  beef.  Meanwhile,  the  recent  order  that  neither 
officers  nor  men  should  appear  out  of  uniform  gives  colour 
and  variety  to  the  streets  of  Valetta;  notably  when 
they  are  tramped  by  Yours  affectionately." 

It  was  not  till  late  in  April  that  he  could  send  her  his 
impressions  of  Gallipoli. 

"  Take  the  dilapidated  out-houses  of  a  real  old  English 
farmyard,  add  to  them  every  seedy,  cracked,  ricketty, 
wooden  structure  to  be  found  in  our  slums,  with  a  sprink- 
ling of  Thames-side  huts,  and  tumble  them  all  down 
higgledy-piggledy  on  a  bare  round  hill  sloping  to  the 
sea,  scatter  about  a  few  slender  white  minarets,  and  you 

*88 


MARMADUKE  189 

have  the  town — a  place  without  shade,  without  water, 
without  food.  We  can,  of  course,  do  the  Kilkenny  cat 
trick,  but  is  it  not  astounding,  is  it  not  incredible,  that 
such  mistakes  should  be  made  ?  However,  an  enterpris- 
ing entrepreneur  from  Smyrna  (Jew,  of  course)  is  trans- 
forming a  battered  old  ruin  into  a  '  Restaurant  de  TArmee 
Auxiliare'  as  the  legend  runs,  done  with  a  thumb  in 
lamp-black  !" 

Already  "considerable  difference  of  opinion"  existed 
as  to  the  choice  of  Gallipoli  as  the  headquarters  of  the 
army,  and  the  mere  watering  "of  thirty-five  thousand 
troops  "  presented  difficulty. 

And  always  and  always  came  the  same  refrain  of 
chafed  patience  at  being  enmeshed  in  the  mistakes  of 
others.  "The  stores  sent  for  the  commissariat  are  be- 
neath contempt.  I  let  out  at  the  quartermaster  for  the 
filthy  stuff  he  was  serving  out,  and  he  assured  me  it  was 
the  best  he  could  get.  Conningsby  of  the  Hussars  tells 
me  half  the  bales  of  hay  sent  out  as  forage  have  centres 
of  wood  shavings.     Why  isn't  someone  hanged  ?" 

Marrion  Paul,  as  she  read  these  two  effusions,  felt 
vaguely  that  the  gilt  was  wearing  off  the  gingerbread. 
The  man's  buoyant  hopes  were  being  dashed  by  the  in- 
eptitude of  those  above  him.  It  was  a  pity,  for  she  knew, 
none  better,  that  underneath  all  his  boyish  lightheaded- 
ness Marmaduke  Muir  had  the  knack  of  making  men 
obey  him  and  follow  him.  She  pictured  him  leading  his 
regiment  into  fight  and  she  could  see  it,  mastered, 
dominated,  held  in  hand  by  that  cheerful  voice,  that 
merry  face. 

She  waited  some  time  for  the  next  bulletin  and  when  it 
came  it  was  short.   "  The  devil's  own  snowstorm  greeted 


190  MARMADUKE 

our  arrival  here — Scutari.  I've  seldom  seen  it  worse  in 
Aberdeenshire.  The  north  wind  blew  big  guns,  we  were 
unable  to  disembark,  and  half  of  us — including  yours 
truly — were  sea-sick.  Doing  nothing,  even  without 
enough  to  eat,  doesn't  suit  Marmaduke  Muir.  The  bar- 
racks here  ar>e  huge;  they  will  hold  eighteen  thousand 
troops,  they  say.  I  know  one  unit  of  a  thousand — only 
about  seven  hundred  and  fifty  I  fear  now — that  would  be 
right  glad  to  go  anywhere  else;  anywhere  where  there 
was  something  to  be  done.  Nigh  four  months  since  we 
left  Portsmouth,  and,  for  all  the  use  I've  been,  I  might  as 
well  have  enjoyed  the  trout-fishing  on  the  Don." 

That  was  the  third  of  the  slender  envelopes  marked 
"  From  the  British  Army  in  the  East "  which  reached  her. 

The  next  was  sealed  with  a  black  seal  and  was  full  of 
pious  reflections  upon  death;  for  the  news  of  his  elder 
brother  Pitt's  demise  had  just  reached  Marmaduke  and 
roused  his  sense  of  responsibilities.  "  In  times  like  these," 
he  wrote,  "  one  feels  the  impotence  of  man — and  woman 
also,"  he  added,  "though  you,  my  dear  Marrion,  had  a 
wonderful  knack  of  clarifying  the  muddles.  Andrew 
does  not  darn  my  stockings  half  so  well  as  you  did." 

But  the  beauties  of  Varna  got  the  better  of  his  reflec- 
tions and  he  drew  a  picture  of  it  that  filled  Marrion  with 
doubts  and  delight.  "  It  is  as  beautiful  as  Scotland — the 
lakes  stretching  away  into  the  scarped  woody  hills,  the 
sea — so  calm  that  the  clouds  reflected  seem  to  sail  on  it — 
almost  motionless  on  the  shore.  The  green  sward  down 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  lakes,  carpeted  with  flowers, 
especially  with  irises.  They  call  it  the  flower  of  death 
in  India,  and  I  noticed  an  evening  mist,  thick  enough 
almost  to  be  called  a  fog,  rising  at  sunset  from  the  low 


MARMADUKE  191 

levels  and  enveloping  the  town.  It  did  not  augur  well 
for  health.  As  for  the  town  itself,  words  fail.  It  is  Galli- 
poli  over  again  with  fewer  drains  and  more  filth.  Yet  to 
look  at  it  in  the  clear  sunlight,  it  is  the  new  Jerusalem. 
And  there  are  angels  in  it,  Marmie ;  the  sort  of  angels  you 
love.  I  really  think  these  little  Turks  and  Turkesses  are 
the  prettiest  children  I  ever  saw.  Their  little  yellow  faces 
and  big  brown  eyes  make  one  think  of  Rubens'  cherubs 
seen  through  smoked  glasses  like  an  eclipse !  And  an 
eclipse  of  most  things  it  is  often  for  the  poor  little 
beggars.  At  Kustendji,  the  other  day,  Hyde  Parker 
found  a  couple  of  pure  babies  on  the  battlefield  where  the 
Russians  had  been  bombarding.  They're  the  pets  of  his 
frigate  now ;  but  there  are  dozens  of  them  who  have  no 
such  luck,  and  dozens  more,  I  expect,  who  die  of  sheer 
hunger  because  we  locusts  of  war  eat  up  everything. 
There  will  be  ninety  thousand  of  us  here  before  long,  and 
for  how  long  ?  God  knows  !  Five  months  and  nothing 
done !  I  wonder  how  you  would  stand  it  ?  But  it 
wouldn't  happen  if  you  were  at  the  head  of  affairs. 
You'd  manage  somehow.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  And, 
joking  apart,  women  would  be  very  useful  out  here.  We 
are  going  to  have  a  lot  of  sick  to  begin  with,  and  then  the 
misery  of  the  poor  folk  in  town  and  village  is  appalling. 
However,  I  suppose  England  must  have  time  to  turn 
round  and  yawn  before  she  wakes  up  to  anything." 

Marrion  Paul  got  that  letter  early  one  June  morning. 
She  laid  it  down  among  the  muslins  and  laces  and  went 
to  the  window.  The  street  was  empty,  but  she  saw,  as 
clearly  as  if  he  had  really  been  there,  Marmaduke  Muir's 
buoyant  figure  going  forth  to  war,  full  of  hope  and  con- 
fidence. 


192  MARMADUKE 

She  never  took  long  making  up  her  mind ;  and,  abso- 
lutely without  ties  as  she  was,  there  were  few  factors  to 
be  considered.  Her  business  was  such  a  personal  one 
that  she  had  only  herself  to  consult.  She  had  money  and 
to  spare  in  the  bank.  Finally,  within  her  heart  was  the 
same  spirit  of  adventure,  the  same  disregard  of  conven- 
tionalities which  had  always  attracted  her  in  Marma- 
duke. 

Last  of  all  his  stockings  were  not  adequately 
mended. 

She  laughed  aloud  at  the  whimsical  thought,  for  she 
had  no  intention  of  thrusting  herself  upon  him.  But  she 
could  be  near  at  hand,  and  she,  at  any  rate,  need  not  turn 
round  and  yawn  before  she  realised  that  women  could 
help. 

So  quietly,  methodically,  she  set  matters  in  train  to  get 
all  the  work  she  had  in  hand  speedily  finished.  She 
wrote  declining  a  few  orders  that  had  come  in,  and  then 
set  off  with  one  of  her  daintiest  little  creations  to  see  the 
wife  of  the  Turkish  ambassador,  who  happened  to  be 
one  of  her  customers. 

But,  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Marsden,  of  the  "Layettes?  she 
could  command  plenty  of  backstairs  influence. 

The  result  being  that  in  less  than  a  week  she  was 
stepping  into  the  Dover  boat  on  her  way  to  Marseilles, 
that  being  the  quickest  route  to  Constantinople.  She 
carried  with  her  credentials  from  the  ambassador's 
family,  which  she  meant  to  use,  if  necessary,  though  she 
hoped  to  be  able  to  do  without  them,  as  anything  in  the 
nature  of  publicity  might  prevent  her  carrying  out  her 
plan  of  reaching  Varna  without  Marmaduke  being  aware 
of  the  fact.     As  a  precaution  she  wrote  to  him  the  day 


MARMADUKE  193 

she  left,  telling  him  not  to  expect  further  news  from  her 
for  a  few  weeks  as  she  had  decided  on  attempting  a  cure 
for  her  lameness,  which  a  clever  young  hospital  doctor 
had  advised,  but  which  involved  a  long  rest. 

She  had  engaged  her  passage  to  Constantinople  by 
a  small  Turkish  mailboat  which  sailed  between  Marseilles 
and  the  Black  Sea.  She  did  this  partly  from  desire  to 
avoid  her  fellow-countrymen  and  the  possibility  of  recog- 
nition or  notice,  but  more  because  the  voyage  would  give 
her  an  opportunity  of  learning  a  few  words  of  Turkish 
and  of  becoming  acquainted  at  least  with  the  husk  of 
Turkish  ways.  She  had  brought  a  grammar  with  her, 
and  was  laboriously  learning  perfectly  useless  phrases, 
when  something  occurred  which  sent  books  to  the  right- 
about and  plunged  her  at  once  into  the  work  she  had 
hoped  almost  beyond  hope  to  be  able  to  reach.  Cholera, 
at  that  time  sweeping  erratically  through  Europe,  broke 
out  among  the  steerage  passengers.  A  mother  died, 
leaving  her  month-old  baby  to  be  cared  for  as  best  it 
could.  Marrion  claimed  it,  thus  became  acquainted  with 
the  ship's  surgeon  and  was  his  right  hand  in  the  sharp, 
decisive  epidemic  that  followed.  It  was  one  of  those 
shipboard  epidemics  when  every  hour  brings  a  new  case, 
until  suddenly,  with  some  change  of  wind  or  course,  the 
sickness  ceases  as  it  came,  mysteriously.  They  were  off 
the  coast  of  Candia  when  the  little  Turk  doctor,  who  had 
passed  at  a  French  medical  school,  made  an  elaborate 
bow,  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  said,  "  Madame,  je 
suis  votre  serviteur?  The  few  convalescents  lying  about 
in  the  scuppers  murmured  the  same  thing  in  Turkish, 
making  Marrion  realise  that  what  she  had  set  herself  to 
do  was  possible,  if  only  she  could  get  footing  amongst 

13 


194  MARMADUKE 

the  people.  She  decided  finally  on  consulting  her  new 
friend,  the  little  surgeon. 

"Varna!"  he  echoed.  "So  madame  desires  Varna! 
That  is  strange,  since,  being  in  quarantine,  we  shall  not 
be  allowed  to  stop  at  Constantinople.  We  must  go  on 
straight  to  Varna,  where  the  disease  already  is." 

She  caught  in  her  breath. 

"Not  bad,  I  hope?" 

"  Of  the  troops  I  know  little,"  he  said,  "  but  the  towns- 
folk have  suffered  terribly.  It  is  semi-starvation.  Hein  ! " 
he  interrupted  himself  hastily,  and  slapped  his  baggy 
trousers,  "there  is  an  old  man  there — a  cripple — one  of 
the  old  school  of  medicine  that  knows  nothing.  He  has 
a  sort  of  hospital  where  folk  die  decently.  If  I  were  to 
tell  him  the  use  you  were,  and  that  you  had  your  own 
stores  of  Europe  medicines" — for  Marrion  had  spent  a 
considerable  sum  in  fitting  herself  out  for  the  part  she 
hoped  to  play — "he  might  like  your  help.  You  have 
plenty  of  money  ?" 

His  little  sharp  eyes  were  alight  with  interest. 

"  I  have  plenty  of  money,"  replied  Marrion  promptly, 
"  and  I  mean  to  spend  it." 

"  Then  you  may  consider  it  settled,"  said  the  surgeon. 
"  Old  Achmet  is  a  sort  of  relation  of  mine.  I  come  of  a 
physician  family;  but  I  warn  you  the  presence  of  an 
English  lady  in  Varna  will  not  pass  unnoticed." 

"I  shall  dress  as  a  Turkish  lady,"  remarked  Marrion, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  had  thought  of  that.  The  yashmak  is 
very  convenient." 

The  little  Turk  laughed  in  high  good  humour. 

"  The  dress  will  become  madame.  She  will  have  many 
admirers ;  but  I  will  be  the  first." 


MARMADUKE  195 

So  it  was  settled  lightly,  but,  as  the  little  steamer 
puffed  and  panted  over  the  blue  Archipelago  where  the 
blue  islands  lay  scattered  like  so  many  shadows,  Marrion 
Paul  felt  somehow  as  if  the  net  of  Fate  were  closing  in  on 
her.     There  was  the  scent  of  Death  in  the  air. 

She  felt  it  almost  overwhelmingly  when,  on  the  first 
night  of  her  arrival  at  Varna,  she  stood  on  the  ricketty 
wooden  verandah  of  the  half-ruined  house  which  had 
been  found  for  her,  looking  out  over  the  long  line  of  in- 
land lakes  that  in  the  past  month  had  gained  from  the 
intruders  whose  white  tents  showed  everywhere  the  dis- 
mal name  of  "Lake  of  Death."     A  white  miasma  rose 
from  it,  hiding  the  level  green  fields  which  in  the  sunset 
had  glowed  purple-red  with  the  meadow  saffron.     Every- 
thing had  gone  smoothly.     The  old  hakim  Achmet  had 
gripped  on  the  hope  of  money,  and  Marrion  Paul,  who 
had  remained  on  board  the  steamer  until  all  negotiations 
had  been  made,  had  simply  stepped  into  the  dinghy  in 
her  Turkish  dress  and  been  carried  with  due  privacy  to 
the  house  chosen  for  her.     Mercifully,  the  ship's  surgeon 
— who  was  delighted  at  his  importance  as  entrepreneur — 
had  been  impressed  by  Marrion's  appearance,  and,  argu- 
ing therefrom  the  length  of  her  purse,  had  fixed  on  a  villa 
which  had  once  belonged  to  a  pasha  of  some  sort.     It 
stood  high  among  cypresses  on  the  Devna  road,  but,  by  a 
steep  descent,  was  close  to  the  worse  slums  of  the  town. 
So,  as  Marrion  stood,  trying  to  realise  her  position,  it 
seemed  impossible,  unreal  that  she  should  be  within  touch 
of  Marmaduke — if  he  were  still  there — if  he  were  not 
dead.     An  indefinable  sense  of  tragedy  impending — 
tragedy  that  was  not  all  grief,  but  which,  by  very  excess 
of  joy,  of  glory,  of  intensity,  transcended  the  normal  and 


196  MARMADUKE 

so  became  almost  fearful,  seemed  to  hang  round  her.  She 
ate  the  Turkish  supper  provided  for  her  by  the  large  fat 
shrill-voiced  woman  she  found  in  charge;  she  lay  down 
in  the  Turkish  quilt  arranged  for  her  on  a  wooden  bed 
and  tried  to  leave  all  questionings  for  the  morrow;  but 
she  could  not  sleep.  The  cry  of  the  muezzin  from  a 
minaret  hard  by  divided  the  night  into  set  portions.  She 
lay  and  listened  to  it. 

"  Al-sul-lah  to  khair  un  mun  nun  nu? 

She  knew  what  it  meant — "  Prayer  is  better  than  sleep." 
But  she  seemed  unable  to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

Mercifully,  again,  the  night  was  not  long.  Far  away 
over  the  sea  in  the  east  the  dawn  began  to  break  golden. 
It  lit  up  the  scarped  hills  above  the  woody  slopes  and 
slowly,  like  a  white  curtain,  the  mists  of  the  valley  lifted, 
showing  the  shiny  levels  of  the  inland  lakes.  Below  her, 
at  her  feet,  beyond  the  vine  pergola  set  with  purpling 
bunches  of  grapes  that  jutted  against  the  blue  distance, 
lay  the  town,  a  packed  mass  of  red-tiled  roofs  and 
shingled  outhouses,  incoherent,  barely  cognisable.  There 
lay  her  work ;  not  over  yonder  where,  like  little  heaps  of 
lime,  the  white  bell-tents  outlined  every  hill. 

Hark,  the  world  was  waking !  From  every  side 
sounded  the  reveille,  echoing  and  re-echoing  among  the 
hills. 

How  many  men  had  died  that  night  whose  ears  would 
never  more  hear  the  call  to  duty  !  Was  Marmaduke  one 
of  them  ? 

Yes,  the  shadow  of  death  lay  on  everything;  but  at 
least  they  were  together  in  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BUT  even  that  poignant  question  as  to  whether  Marma- 
duke  lived  or  did  not  live  lost  its  arresting  power  before 
what  she  saw  when,  guided  by  the  hakim  Achmet,  she 
threaded  the  maze  of  lanes  and  alleys  which  still  formed 
the  real  Varna.  The  quays,  it  is  true,  had  been  widened 
and  glorified.  Along  them  gay  restaurants  and  cafes 
chantants  were  to  be  found,  filled  with  reckless  soldiers 
and  still  more  reckless  courtesans.  A  wide  street  had 
been  hacked  through  tenement  houses  and  lined  with 
tawdry  shops  which  catered  for  all  and  every  luxury  that 
can  give  a  moment's  pleasure  to  idle  men.  And  there 
were  plenty  of  them  here,  waiting,  waiting  still  for  that 
expedition  of  one  hundred  thousand  soldiers  to  the 
Crimea,  of  which  for  months  past  the  English  papers  had 
been  full.  Outwardly,  therefore,  so  far  as  a  fringe  of 
welcome  and  a  passage  through  it  to  the  hills  beyond 
went,  Varna  was  what  folk  boasted  it  had  become,  a  cos- 
mopolitan town ;  but  within,  down  by  the  back  wharves 
and  the  sodden  sea-alleys,  round  by  the  crushed-in  closes 
and  stifling  courts,  it  was  old,  rotten,  kept  from  utter 
putrefaction  by  the  hot  sun  which,  while  it  bred  flies, 
dried  up  the  muck  of  many  men.  The  hakim* s  hospital 
was  in  the  wide  courtyard  of  a  mosque,  one  of  the  few  air- 
holes left  to  the  seething  city;  and  Marrion  Paul  never 
forgot  her  first  sight  of  the  sunlit  square  set  round  with 
the  dead  and  dying.     The  stench  was  unspeakable,  and 

197 


198  MARMADUKE 

as  she  stooped  over  the  first  patient  she  saw  that  the  sheet 
which  covered  him  was  alive  with  vermin.  Achmet  him- 
self, a  hunchback  with  a  high-featured,  intolerant  face, 
seemed  to  think  that  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  court- 
yard reciting  his  beads  and  exhorting  the  inmates  to  have 
patience  and  trust  in  God,  was  the  best  treatment  he 
could  offer.  Mayhap  it  was,  since  half  the  forms  that 
lay  moaning  on  the  stones  were  doomed  to  death.  That 
night,  when  Marrion  returned  to  her  cypress-set  villa,  the 
first  thing  she  did  was  to  cut  off  her  beautiful  hair  close 
to  her  head,  and  as  she  laid  the  great  tresses  away  she 
thought  once  more  of  Marmaduke.  She  must  find  out 
about  him  when  she  had  time,  but  that  day  and  the  next 
she  had  her  work  cut  out  for  her.  "Maryam  Effendi" 
they  had  already  learnt  to  call  her,  and  old  Achmet,  with 
a  daily  stipend  of  so  many  piastres,  was  content  to  let 
her  have  her  way.  But  there  were  other  places  besides 
the  mosque  hospital  where  some  fifty  men  groaned  and 
died,  or  groaned  and  got  better,  that  were  surcharged 
with  misery  and  death.  Hovels  where  babies  tugged 
vainly  at  their  dead  mother's  breasts  and  old  women  sat 
starving  silently.  It  was  among  these  that  after  a  day  or 
two  Maryam  Effendi  was  busiest.  She  settled  to  her 
work  bravely,  increasing  her  stock  of  Turkish  rapidly 
and  gaining  for  herself  sufficient  friends  and  aid  to  en- 
able her  to  enlarge  her  sphere  of  usefulness.  One  of 
these  was  big  fat  "  Heart's  Darling,"  as  her  solitary  ser- 
vant was  called,  who,  transferring  domestic  duties  to  an 
unspeakable  drudge  she  produced,  took  up  the  duties  of 
interpreter  on  the  strength  of  some  slight  knowledge  of 
French. 

And  Fate  was  so  far  kind  to  Marrion  that  she  had 


MARMADUKE  199 

little  trouble  in  finding  out  the  news  she  desired  to  hear. 
A  sort  of  local  rag  in  French  and  English  was  published 
in  which,  for  equivalent  of  a  penny,  she  learnt  that 
Marmaduke's  regiment  was  still  camped  six  miles  out 
among  the  hills  and  that  he  was  still  in  command.  From 
her  verandah  she  could  actually  see  the  very  place  where 
he  must  be.  Once,  indeed,  as  she  was  hurrying  along  the 
quay  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  the  Turkish  gad-about 
woman  she  caught  a  sight  of  Andrew  Fraser,  tall,  gaunt, 
serious  as  usual,  looking  on  distastefully  at  one  of  the 
many  drunken  rows  that  occurred  every  day.  The 
temptation  to  go  up  and  speak  to  him  was  great,  but  she 
stuck  to  her  plan  and  passed  on.  When  she  had  really 
done  something  she  would  write  and  tell  Marmaduke 
she  was  at  hand,  but  not  till  then.  Possibly,  had  she 
seen  him  instead  of  Andrew  Fraser  she  might  not  have 
been  so  firm ;  for  a  glance  would  have  shown  her  that  she 
could  have  been  of  use.  In  truth,  the  inaction,  the  con- 
stant fret  of  feeling  that  all  initiative  is  of  no  avail,  was 
beginning  to  tell  on  Marmaduke  Muir.  He  also  looked 
down  of  an  evening  on  the  white  pall  that  covered  the 
Lake  of  Death,  and  wondered — without  one  shadow  of 
fear,  but  from  simple  curiosity — whether  the  levels  of 
life  would  meet  his  eyes  again.  And  they  seemed  such 
low  levels  now !  Yes,  he  had  missed  something  in  his 
life  !  What  was  it  ?  These,  however,  were  very  secret 
thoughts.  To  the  little  coterie  of  careless  men  of  which 
he  was  the  centre,  he  was,  as  ever,  the  mainspring  of 
everything.  Even  the  divisional  commander  sought  his 
sympathy  as  day  after  day  the  orders  for  the  front  tar- 
ried, and  day  after  day  the  regimental  chaplain  grew 
busier   and  busier.      For  cholera  was  rampant  in   the 


200  MARMADUKE 

camps  as  in  the  town,  and  every  evening  the  "Dead 
March  in  Saul"  echoed  out  through  the  hills  and  over 
the  purple  crocuses. 

"Nothing  will  stop  it,  sir,"  said  the  young  colonel 
quietly,  "except  orders  for  Sebastopol.  The  men  are 
dead  sick  of  waiting  and  so  am  I ;  that  is  the  truth." 

And  still  the  orders  lingered  on  the  way.  The  wait- 
ing army  did  its  best  to  pass  the  time.  Marmaduke 
took  to  tying  flies,  and  thereinafter  thrashed  the  hill 
streams  with  ill  success.  And  he  played  cricket  with 
the  men,  though  it  was  ill  finding  a  proper  pitch  on  the 
steep  hill-side  where  they  were  encamped;  and  he  had 
to  keep  his  men  from  those  low  levels  as  much  as  he 
could,  being  rewarded  for  his  care  by  the  fact  that  his 
battalion  suffered  less  from  the  scourge  than  any  other. 
Though  this  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  seeing  that  it 
was  commanded  by  one  whose  cheery  youth  and  strength 
seemed  to  defy  Fate. 

"  The  Cornel's  face  is  mair  tae  the  purpose  nor  your 
pills,  doctor,"  said  a  young  recruit  fighting  his  best  for 
life.  "Til  just  tak  a  sup  o'  it,  if  ye  please,  and  leave 
tither  alane  for  fowk  as  likes  them." 

Yet  that  same  face  often  showed  a  touch  of  weariness 
in  it  when,  after  his  wont,  Marmaduke  would  climb  the 
hill  behind  his  hut  in  order  to  smoke  his  solitary  after- 
breakfast  cigar  at  the  foot  of  a  scarp  whence  the  most 
astounding  view  of  God's  world  was  to  be  had.  Hills 
and  still  more  hills.  Seas  and  still  more  seas ;  lakes  and 
still  more  lakes.     Flowers  and  still  more  flowers. 

"  It  is  the  inaction,  Mac,"  he  said  to  his  old  friend  of 
the  regimental  club  one  day  after  mess  dinner.  They 
had  been  perforce  laughing  at  the  plight  of  a  braw  Hie- 


MARMADUKE  201 

landman  who  had  been  brought  up  to  orderly-rooms 
that  day  from  the  general  guard,  clad  in  Zouave  trousers 
and  jacket,  kepi  and  all  complete;  only  the  chequered 
hose  of  his  own  uniform  remaining  to  betray  the  drunken 
bout  on  which  he  had  been  engaged. 

"  I  noo  'im  by  'is  legs,  sir,"  said  the  sergeant  solemnly, 
"  so  I  brought  'im  along." 

"Ton  my  soul,  I  can't  help  sympathising  with  the 
poor  beggars,"  he  went  on.  "  Why  the  devil  can't  they 
give  the  men  something  to  do  besides  getting  drunk  ? 
Here  is  the  tenth  of  August  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  I 
might  be  off  grouse-shooting  on  the  twelfth.  Good  Lord, 
what  wouldn't  I  give  to  be  on  Braemore  with  my  dogs ! 
They're  the  best " 

And  he  began,  in  true  sportsman  style,  over  the  virtues 
of  his  setters ;  whereat  others  joined  in  with  tales  of  their 
own.  So,  heartened  up,  they  all  repaired  to  Marma- 
duke's  favourite  vantage  ground  to  finish  their  cigars. 

It  was  a  perfect  evening.  The  day  had  been  hot,  but 
with  the  sun  setting  a  little  cool  sea-breeze  had  sprung  up 
which  seemed  to  freshen  even  the  very  flowers  that  had 
flagged  with  the  sun's  heat.  They  sat,  growing  more 
and  more  silent  as  the  day  died  down ;  and,  indeed,  what 
lay  before  their  eyes  was  sufficient  to  make  most  men 
hold  their  peace;  for  it  was  beautiful  exceedingly.  The 
far  Euxine  fading  grey  into  a  pearl-grey  sky.  Overhead 
and  behind  them  the  rose-pink  pennons  of  the  departing 
sun  floating  on  the  unfathomable  clearness  of  space. 
Within  the  bay  great  ships  of  war  showed,  half -hidden  in 
the  evening  haze  which  turned  the  squalid  city  into 
dreamland. 

Close  at  hand  lay  innumerable  little  hills  and  ravines 


202  MARMADUKE 

thrown  in  sharp  shade  and  shine  that  trended  away  on 
all  sides  to  the  long  line  of  lakes  over  whose  purpling 
levels  a  fine  veil  of  vapour  was  rising  softly,  swiftly. 

Truly  a  dream-picture,  unreal  in  its  absolute  beauty, 
its  perfect  peace. 

"  That's  the  Agamemnon,  I  expect/'  said  one  pointing 
with  his  cigar  to  a  big  vessel  that,  rounding  the  promon- 
tory to  the  south,  began  to  cross  the  bay,  leaving  a  great 
trail  of  smoke  behind  her.  "  I  wonder  if  she  is  coming  in  ?" 

"  Looks  like  it,"  said  another,  "  only  they  weren't  sure. 
Anyhow,  we've  company  to-night.  Look  down  there  by 
the  second  wharf.  There's  another  trail — some  steamer 
is  making  fast !" 

All  eyes  turned  to  where  a  thin  column  of  smoke 
showed,  rising  high  then  drifting  westwards  over  the  town. 

"  Burning  bad  coal  whatever,"  assented  Mac.  "  Why, 
it's  getting  bigger!" 

Marmaduke,  watching  intently,  suddenly  started  up. 

"  By  George,  it  is  odd  !  I  believe — by  heavens,  gen- 
tlemen, it  is  a  fire  ! " 

They  all  followed  his  example.  And  now  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  With  amazing  rapidity  the  cloud  dark- 
ened, deepened,  then  in  the  departing  daylight  showed 
dusky  red.  And  there — flashing  up  suddenly  came  a 
great  fork  of  flame.  Marmaduke  looked  round  on  the 
others. 

"  The  town  is  tinder,"  he  said  briefly,  "  and  the  maga- 
zines      We  had  best  be  off  !" 

There  was  no  need  for  more.  In  truth  there  was 
danger.  The  wind  blew  westwards.  There  were  no 
fire-engines,  so  every  man  might  be  wanted. 

And  now  the  sound  of  fire  alarms  on  the  men-of-war 


MARMADUKE  203 

echoed  out  stridently,  and  boatload  after  boatload  of 
blue-jackets,  armed  with  pumps  and  pipes,  shot  from 
every  ship.  Almost  before  Marmaduke  was  on  his  horse, 
after  ordering  fatigue  parties  to  come  on  at  the  double, 
streams  of  water  were  pouring  on  the  burning  houses. 
To  no  purpose.  The  fire  had  originated  in  a  wine  and 
oil  shop  and  both  burnt  fiercely.  By  the  time  he  reached 
the  town  but  one  word  was  on  the  lips  of  every  respon- 
sible officer — "  The  magazines  !"  They  were  full  up.  On 
them  depended  the  possibility  of  the  attack  on  Sebas- 
topol ;  on  them  therefore  hung  the  fortunes  of  war.  They 
stood  still  far  from  the  blazing  town,  but  it  burnt  like  the 
matchwood  it  was,  and  between  them  and  it  lay,  as  it 
were,  nothing  but  fresh  tinder  ready  to  take  fire  at  a 
spark. 

"  Those  houses  should  come  down,  sir,"  suggested 
Marmaduke  to  a  general,  and  almost  before  assent 
answered  him,  had  sprung  to  organise  the  work.  But 
ramshackle,  tumbledown  though  the  wooden  piers  and 
pilasters  seemed,  they  were  curiously  strong,  needing 
time  for  destruction.  Hawsers  were  brought  ashore  to 
facilitate  the  job  and  parties  told  off  to  each  house. 
Three  hundred  soldiers — mostly  French — lay  to  man- 
fully on  one  of  the  ropes,  pulling  for  all  they  were  worth, 
when  just  as  the  house  they  were  tackling  began  to  totter 
a  loud  explosion  came  from  within.  And,  lo !  the  only 
two  men  left  on  that  rope  were  Marmaduke  and  a  young 
French  officer  who  clicked  his  heels  together  and  stood 
to  the  salute  with  a  merry  "Mes  compliments,  mon 
Colonel!" 

"A  vousy  Monsieur  le  CafitaineF  returned  Marma- 
duke laughing,  as  he  rallied  the  men. 


204  MARMADUKE 

"It's  not  the  magazines,  boys!"  he  called.  "We've 
to  save  that  yet.     Yo-ho — heave  ahoy  ! " 

They  set  to  again  with  a  will;  but  the  flames  gained 
ground  every  instant  and  the  densely  dark  cloud  of 
smoke  drifting  over  the  magazines  showed  alive  with 
ominous  shoals  of  sparks. 

"Mac!"  shouted  Marmaduke,  as  he  worked  like  a 
demon,  when  his  major  came  hurrying  past  with  another 
fatigue  party.  "  Get  hold  of  someone  and  suggest  the 
commissariat  blankets ;  there  are  bales  and  bales  of  them 
somewhere.  Put  them  on  the  magazine  roofs,  soak  'em 
with  water.     Tell  the  blue- jackets " 

"All  right,  sir!"  shouted  back  the  major. 

And  thereon  came  blankets,  bales  on  bales  of  them,  and 
blue-jackets  swarming  up  and  over  everything,  and  jets 
of  water  turned  from  their  useless  work  on  houses  that 
would  burn,  to  keep  those  blankets  sodden. 

The  din  was  deafening.  The  inhabitants,  swept  out 
of  their  houses,  stood  huddled  in  the  streets  and  kept  up 
a  constant  wail.  The  bugle  calls  rang  out  here,  there, 
and  everywhere,  and  above  the  roar  and  crackle  could 
be  heard  voices  in  urgent  exhortation — "  All  together, 
men  !  The  blue- jackets  are  laughing  at  you  !"  "  Heave 
away,  I  say,  boys,  show  the  land-lubbers  how  to  do  it ! " 
Or  shriller,  more  passionate — "A  moi,  mes  enfants!  Les 
Anglais  nous  r  e  gar  dent  T 

Once  there  came  a  sudden  pause.  The  red  flare  of  the 
conflagration  changed  to  brilliant  blue. 

"  Milles  tonnerresT  cried  the  French  soldiers  sadly,  as 
they  recommenced  work.  "  Ahe,  le  bon  eau-de-vie!" 
Their  commissariat  canteen  store  had  gone. 

So  through  the  long  night  they  worked,  fighting  the 


MARMADUKE  205 

flames  with  their  hands  for  the  most  part.  Fatigue  party 
after  fatigue  party  poured  into  the  town  and  one  strong 
man  after  another  lay  down  exhausted  on  the  quays  and 
begged  someone  to  cool  him  with  water. 

It  was  just  as  a  faint  lightening  over  the  sea  in  the  east 
showed  dawn  was  nigh  that  Marmaduke,  wiping  the 
sweat  from  his  blackened  forehead,  said — 

"I  think  that's  done  with.  The  magazines  are  safe 
now !" 

"  Yes,"  said  a  man  near  him,  "  up  here  it's  almost 
over.  But  they've  got  it  still  down  there,  by  the  dock 
wharves,  poor  devils  ! " 

Marmaduke,  whose  every  thought  and  look  had 
hitherto  been  for  the  magazines,  turned  to  the  lower  part 
of  the  town. 

"  By  Jove,  they  have ! "  he  cried.  "  Here,  men, 
follow  me ! " 

"  Let  me  go,  sir,"  put  in  a  subaltern.  "  You  must  be 
done — and  they  should  all  be  out  of  their  houses  by  now." 

He  might  as  well  have  saved  his  breath.  Marmaduke, 
careless  of  fatigue,  was  racing  to  danger  again.  And  here 
it  was  greater.  The  two  or  three  story  ramshackle 
houses  almost  closed  in  upon  each  other,  and  in  one 
burnt-out  street  he  had  to  pass  through,  a  charred  beam 
almost  finished  him.  But  he  raced  on;  and  here  there 
was  evidence  that  the  fire  had  been  faced  with  some 
method.  Houses  had  been  pulled  down,  the  inhabitants 
ordered  to  certain  open  spaces,  and  as  he  neared  the  spot 
where  the  tenements  almost  overhung  the  water's  edge,  a 
double  line  of  men  were  passing  buckets.  There  were 
only  two  houses  left  in  the  street;  one  was  in  flames,  the 
other,  overhanging  the  water,  must  soon  go.     Seeing  the 


206  MARMADUKE 

hopelessness  of  saving  it,  or  indeed  the  use,  since 
evidently  those  were  the  occupants  who,  with  shrill  cries 
and  excited  gestures,  were  watching  the  destruction  of 
their  property,  he  was  about  to  seek  work  elsewhere  when 
a  big  fat  woman  almost  overset  him  in  her  eagerness  to 
find  his  feet.  To  these  she  clung,  shrieking  at  the  top  of 
her  voice — 

"  Maryam  Effendi !     Maryam  Eff endi !     Elle  est  la, 

elle  est  la!     Sauvez  le — Sauvez  le n 

He  would  have  been  at  a  loss  even  to  grasp  the  last 
words  had  not  a  figure  shown  at  that  moment  on  the  roof 
of  the  burning  house.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  tall  woman 
in  white  and  the  flare  of  the  flames  showed  that  she 
carried  a  baby  in  her  arms. 

"My  God!"  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  for  there 
seemed  no  possibility  of  escape. 

"Maryam  Effendi !  Maryam  Effendi !"  wailed  the 
crowd,  adding  in  mixed  French  and  Turkish — "She 
has  the  child  !  Ah,  the  brave  woman !  She  has  the 
child  r 

Aye,  she  had  it,  and  she  meant  to  hold  it,  too !  A 
brave  woman  indeed  !  Pausing  for  a  second  in  her 
perilous  effort  to  pass  from  one  roof  to  the  other,  she 
pulled  off  her  veil,  wrapped  it  round  the  child,  and 
knotted  it  high  above  her  shoulders.  Then,  hands  and 
knees,  set  herself  to  her  task.  But  the  flames  were  almost 
too  quick  for  her.  And  forked  tongues  licked  at  her 
feet;  the  next  instant  she  was  beyond  them  and, 
straightening  herself,  walked  rapidly  over  a  level  strip. 
And  now  from  below,  where  even  Marmaduke  stood 
arrested,  helpless,  watching  another's  fight  for  life,  came 
a  soft  wail  of  horror.     The  last  house  had  caught  fire 


MARMADUKE  207 

from  below,  the  flames  were  surging  upwards,  the  thin 
shingle  roof  might  be  gone  any  moment. 

"Jump,  for  God's  sake,  jump  !"  cried  Marmaduke,  his 
voice  vibrant  with  awful  dread.  "  Jump,  we'll  catch  you, 
somehow ! " 

Even  as  he  spoke  he  felt  the  uselessness  of  his  appeal 
to  one  who  could  not  understand. 

"Tell  her  to  jump — we'll  catch  her !"  he  added  dully, 
knowing  there  was  no  time,  for  already  ominous  crack- 
ings rose  from  the  flames  that  mounted  higher  and 
higher. 

But  that  familiar  voice  had  reached  the  ears  of  the 
woman  clinging  her  way  for  dear  life,  and  tightened  her 
hold  upon  the  ridge-pole  that  was  her  only  hope.  No, 
she  would  not  die  yet !  She  would  not  die  with  thai 
voice  in  her  ears ! 

A  faint  shudder  came  from  the  crowd  below  as,  with  a 
crash,  the  roof  fell  in.  A  fainter  moan  of  relief  followed, 
as  the  woman  with  her  pack  still  showed  standing  on  the 
crossway  beam  of  a  balcony  that  overhung  the  water. 
A  great  tongue  of  flame  shot  out  at  her,  but  at  the  instant 
she  raised  her  joined  hands  above  her  head  and  dived — 
a  flash  of  white  lit  up  by  the  red  flare — into  deep 
water. 

"By  heaven,  what  pluck!"  muttered  Marmaduke  as, 
without  a  second's  delay,  he  plunged  from  the  wharf 
and  swam,  with  quick  overhand  strokes,  to  where  the 
woman  had  disappeared.  He  was  just  preparing  to  dive 
after  her  when  she  came  up  close  beside  him. 

One  look  was  sufficient. 

"Marmie!"  he  cried.  "God  in  heaven,  am  I 
dreaming  ?     Marmie !  " 


208  MARMADUKE 

"  Yes — yes,"  she  gasped  impatiently,  for  owing  to  the 
weight  she  carried  her  dive  had  been  prolonged.  "  The 
child's  head — see  that  it  is  out  of  water !" 

In  a  second  he  was  cool,  self-reliant. 

"  Your  hands  on  my  shoulders,  please.  That  will 
raise  you — I  must  swim  round — the  burning  wood." 

In  truth  every  instant  a  fierce  hiss,  a  cloud  of  steam 
close  to  them  showed  where  some  blazing  fragment  had 
fallen  to  be  extinguished. 

"Are  you  all  right?"  he  called  over  his  shoulder,  as 
with  powerful  strokes  he  made  for  a  further  wharf. 

"All  right;  but  please  be  quick — the  child " 

How  like  Marmie — always  the  child — the  child.  He 
swam  on,  feeling  bewildered  but,  he  knew  not  why, 
desperately  happy. 

"I  don't  understand,"  he  began,  when  at  last  they 
stood  dripping  side  by  side,  and  the  baby,  being  unloosed 
from  its  wrappings,  was  found  to  be  none  the  worse. 

"  I  will  tell  you  directly,"  she  said.  "  I  must  just  give 
the  child  back  to  its  mother;  it  is  quite  a  tiny  thing. 
Then  you  can  walk  up  to  my  house  over  yonder  and  get 
your  clothes  dried." 

But  the  stifling  air  of  the  streets  soon  scorched  up  the 
moisture,  and  Marmaduke  protested  against  anything 
but  a  cup  of  hot  coffee — which  fat  "  Heart's  Delight " 
bustled  away  to  prepare — while  those  two  stood  and 
talked  on  the  verandah.  Below  them  lay  the  town,  still 
smoking ;  still — as  a  puff  of  dawn  wind  blew  the  embers 
to  redness — sending  out  a  shower  of  sparks,  or  even  a 
forked  tongue  of  flame.  The  smell  of  burning  filled  their 
nostrils,  the  memory  of  a  great  escape  filled  their  minds. 
And  beyond  that,  under  and  deeper  than  that,  stretched 


M  A  R  M  A  D  U  K  E  209 

the  atmosphere  of  death  and  disease,  of  constant  danger, 
in  which  they  had  both  been  living  for  so  long.  It  is  an 
atmosphere  which  invariably  brings  with  it,  to  the  whole- 
some mind  and  body,  a  feeling  of  revolt  against  such 
limitations,  a  distaste  of  all  things  that  pertain  to  decay, 
a  keen  appetite  for  those  that  belong  to  life. 

And  the  dawn-light  grew  as  they  stood  talking.  She 
had  bidden  him  begone,  had  urged  as  a  reason  that  he 
must  remember  his  health.  Cholera  might  be  bad  on  the 
hills,  but  it  was  deadly  in  the  city.  And  he  had  laughed 
back  that  caution  was  a  bit  late  to  a  man  who  had  seen 
six  strong  men  die  that  very  morning.  The  poor  devils 
seemed  to  like  his  being  there.     Now  he 

"  I  should  only  want  you,  Marmie,"  he  said.  And  she 
had  looked  at  him  in  sudden  wonder. 

"I  must  go  now  if  I'm  to  be  in  time  for  parade/'  he 
admitted  at  last.  "Good-night — no,  good-morrow,  my 
heart's  delight!" 

For  an  instant  she  held  he  was  joking  with  the  fat 
coffee-bringer's  name;  then  she  gave  a  quick  tremulous 
cry — 

"  Duke  !  what — what  do  you  mean  ?" 

He  laughed  a  little  low,  happy  laugh,  sank  on  his 
knees  beside  her,  and  clasped  her  tight  in  his 
arms. 

"  Only  that  I  love  you — only  that  I've  found  you — no, 
IVe  found  myself  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever !" 

He  buried  his  face  in  the  loose  folds  of  her  dress  and  so 
they  remained  for  a  second.  Then  she  slipped  through 
his  hold  to  her  knees  also,  and  they  knelt  looking  into 
each  other's  eyes. 

The  sun  rising  slowly,  majestically,  out  of  the  sea 

14 


210  MARMADUKE 

shone  upon  their  shining  faces.  Vaguely,  as  in  a  glass, 
darkly  the  twain  had  passed  to  one;  they  were  nearer 
the  Great  Unity. 

"  Duke,"  whispered  Marmie,  with  a  faint  shiver,  "  I 
think  I'm  afraid!" 

"And  I,"  he  said  joyously,  finding  her  lips,  "feel  as  if 
I  never  could  be  afraid  again — never — never — never  !" 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  DUKE,"  she  said,  for  at  least  the  twentieth  time,  "  I  keep 
wondering  how  it  came  about." 

He  spent  all  his  spare  time  now — it  was  not  much — 
in  the  vine  pergola,  and  he  was  picking  out  the  ripe 
grapes  from  a  bunch  as  he  answered  her. 

"  I  don't.  I  had  been  thinking  about  you  a  lot ;  and 
then  I  was  tired — really  done  ! " 

"  What  an  excuse  for  falling  in  love,"  she  protested 
half-vexedly ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  know." 

He  came  over  to  her  and  put  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

"  How  can  I  tell,  sweetest  ?  I  had  been  thinking,  as 
I  said,  a  lot  about  you — and  missing  a  lot — stockings, 
and  all  that  " — his  smile  was  charm  itself ;  "  then,  when 
I  saw  your  dear  old  head  bob  up  all  shaven  and 
shorn ! "  he  kissed  it  deliberately,  and  she  laughed. 

"  For  all  that,"  she  persisted,  "  I  should  like  to  under- 
stand." 

"  My  dearest  dear,"  he  replied,  "  you  are  such  a  beggar 
for  wanting  to  know  and  understand.  Now  I,  my  dear 
Marmie — I'm  too  happy  to  want  to  know  anything  !  Fm 
content  with  what  I  have — and  you  are  content,  too,  you 
know  you  are !" 

There  was  no  denying  the  fact.  Content,  indeed,  was 
no  word  for  the  feeling  that  you  were  rapt  away  from  the 
very  possibility  of  care.     There,  in  the  very  shadow  of 

211 


212  MARMADUKE 

the  grave,  overlooking  the  Lake  of  Death,  those  two 
lovers  found  their  joy  enhanced  by  the  uncertainty  of 
life. 

"I  was  chief  mourner  at  six  funerals  this  morning," 
Marmaduke  would  say  sadly.  "  As  fine  fellows  as  ever 
stepped.  Sometimes  I  wonder,  darlingest,  if  I  ought  to 
come  to  you " 

"  You  can  bring  no  more  harm  to  me  than  I  am  in 
already,"  she  would  reply.  "  I  am  in  the  thick  of  it 
here.  Indeed,  I  was  wondering  if  I  ought  to  let  you 
come." 

"  Let  me ! "  he  would  echo  derisively.  "  As  if  you 
could  stop  me." 

And  in  truth  there  was  no  gainsaying  him,  for  Mar- 
maduke, easy-going  as  a  friend,  was  an  imperious  lover. 

After  he  left  her  in  the  dawnings  Marrion  would  take 
out  the  pocket  Shakespeare  she  had  brought  with  her 
and,  sitting  out  under  the  purpling  vines,  read  how  the 
immortal  lovers  parted. 

"  I  am  content  so  thou  wouldst  have  it  so." 

She  had  never  before  realised  that  so  lay  the  very 
essence  of  love.  No  plannings,  no  cuttings,  no  contrivings. 
All  things  simplified,  clarified. 

It  was  a  wonderful  fortnight.  The  fire,  after  a  brief 
recrudescence,  died  down,  leaving  the  slums  of  the  city 
in  ruins,  but  purified.  So  cholera,  most  mysterious  of 
diseases,  abated,  disappeared  from  the  town;  and  even 
in  the  camps,  exposed  to  the  miasma  of  the  Lake  of 
Death,  was  shorn  of  half  its  terrors.  And  there  was  a 
stir  as  of  coming  life  in  the  military  backwaters.  Mar- 
maduke, his  face  alight,  would  say  that  the  one  thing 
needful  to  perfect  happiness  must  be  close  at  hand;  for 


MARMADUKE  213 

that  was  the  curious  thing  about  finding  yourself  in 
love — you  wanted  to  be  up  and  doing  all  the  time. 

And  so  one  day  when,  instead  of  Marmaduke,  Andrew 
Fraser — long  since  let  into  the  secret  of  Maryam 
Effendi — appeared  with  a  note,  Marrion  tried  to  echo 
Romeo's  words  without  any  reservations,  and  to  be  con- 
tent if  he  would  have  it  so.     For  the  note  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Heart's  Delight, 

"  The  news  has  come !  We  are  off  to  the 
Crimea.  I  feel  that  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  am 
going  to  have  my  chance — or,  rather,  we  are  going  to 
have  our  chance,  for  I  shall  take  you  with  me,  never  fear. 
I  wish,  dear,  your  real  body  were  small  enough  to  go 
into  my  knapsack,  but  the  heart  that  beats  under  this 
uniform  coat  is  large  enough  to  hold  your  love.  I  must 
be  very  busy,  but  I  will  find  time  in  a  day  or  two  for 
perfect  happiness.  u  Yours  ever> 

"  Marmaduke. 

"  P.S. — I  must  get  you  to  box  my  ears  before  I  go.  It 
will  keep  me  straight  and  make  me  what  England 
expects. — M.  M. 

"P.P.S. — Andrew  says  he  is  taking  my  stockings  for 
you  to  mend.     Forgive  us  poor  men  bodies. — M." 

So  she  sat  darning  the  stockings  and  trying  to  prevent 
a  sinking  at  the  heart. 

From  her  verandah  she  could  see  the  bustle  and  stir 
in  the  camp.  The  next  day  one  of  the  meadow  stretches 
lay  bare  of  tents.  So  the  work  of  embarkation  must  be 
close  at  hand.  Aye,  the  bay  was  thronged  with  trans- 
ports !     There  was  a  sound  of  drums  and  fifes  in  the  air. 


214  MARMADUKE 

What  room  for  love  and  peace  when  war  and  strife  were 
afoot  ?  But  any  moment  now  might  bring  Marmaduke, 
and  that  was  enough  for  the  present. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day,  when  she  was  beginning  to 
wonder  if  possibly  he  had  not  found  time,  that  an  orderly 
appeared  with  a  note.  It  was  not  from  Duke;  it  was 
from  Andrew. 

"  Dear  Madam, 

"  Please  come.     I  have  sent  the  Colonel's  charger. 
He  will  carry  a  lady.     He  is  very  ill." 

She  turned  soul-sick  as  she  read. 

"  Is  he — is  the  Colonel  very  ill  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Verra  ill  indeed,  mm.  It's  the  co-lira,  and  they're 
say  in'  he's  like  to  dee — God  forbid  it !" 

"Like  to  die!" 

Well,  it  was  best  to  know  the  truth.  She  put  on  her 
European  dress  and  started,  remembering  as  she  rode 
through  the  flower-set  meadows  how  they  had  planned 
this  visit  to  his  hut.  How  she  should  spend  the  day 
there  and  be  introduced  to  his  friends.  For  though  they 
never  spoke  of  the  future  or  the  past,  living  only  in  the 
present  heaven,  Marmaduke  had  evidently  never  con- 
sidered the  possibility  of  separation  and  she  had  been 
content  to  let  such  possibilities  slide. 

And  now  ?  She  bit  her  lip  to  keep  it  from  quivering 
as  Andrew  met  her. 

"  He's  lying  in  the  arbour,  m'm.  And  he's  no  worse, 
anyway." 

Yes,  there  he  was,  lying — such  a  long  length — on  his 
camp-bed  covered  with  his  plaid.  Lying  under  the 
arbour  of  Jonah's  gourd,  about  which  he  had  chattered 


MARMADUKE  215 

so  gaily  as  being  a  laughing-stock  to  the  other  officers, 
though  they  dearly  loved  to  sit  in  its  shade.  The  ripe 
fruit  hung  scarlet  amid  the  yellowing  leaves.  It  seemed 
to  throw  the  blue  pallor  of  his  face  into  louder  warning 
that  Death  was  in  grips  with  Life. 

She  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  took  his  hand  without 
one  word.  She  had  seen  too  many  cholera  cases  to  hope 
for  speech,  but  the  eyelids  quivered  and  the  fingers  closed 
on  hers. 

"  How  long  ?"  she  asked. 

"Since  yesterday  morning.  He  would  not  give  in — 
we  were  to  move  to-night,  ye  see " 

"Why    didn't    you ?"      Words    failed    her    for 

reproach. 

"  He  wouldna  let  me  send.  I'm  thinking  he  was 
afraid  for  ye." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Her  heart  was  full  of  regret, 
of  bitterness.     Afraid  for  her — oh,  Duke,  Duke ! 

"  And  he  has  everything  ?" 

"  Aye,  everything  !  The  doctor  will  be  here  again  the 
now." 

He  came  and  found  his  patient  better.  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  smiled.  Collapse  had  gone,  the  following  fever 
had  laid  hold  on  him.  Would  his  heart  stand  it  ?  All 
that  day  he  lay  in  something  like  sleep — quiet,  so  long  as 
his  hand  could  find  that  other  hand.  Once  or  twice 
she  caught  a  whispered  word  of  command  and  once, 
urgent,  came  a  call  for  reinforcements.  His  mind  was 
at  battle — far,  far  from  her.  About  an  hour  before  sunset 
he  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 

"  I've  done  it,"  he  said  faintly ;  "  I've  done  it !" 

The  doctor  came  in  many  a  time  and  oft.     The  order- 


216  MARMADUKE 

lies  were  always  doing  something;  but  her  part  was  to 
hold  his  hand  until  the  last.  She  saw  it  coming  clearly ; 
she  knew  that  it  must  be  so. 

Someone  in  the  arbour  suggested  a  clergyman,  and 
they  sent  to  fetch  one. 

"  He  will  be  too  late,"  half-whispered  a  voice. 

Was  it  hers  ?  Too  late  !  As  if  it  mattered  ?  As 
if  He  who  made 

Hark !  A  bird  singing.  It  had  come  in  after  the 
fruit — perhaps  he  had  fed  it,  for  he  loved  God's  creatures 
— and  now  not  five  yards  from  where  he  lay  it  was  giving 
its  heart  out  in  full-throated  song. 

Hush  !     Listen  !     Listen  ! — it  seemed  to  say. 

The  still  figure  was  growing  more  still. 

The  slow  breathing  grew  slower. 

The  touch  of  these  cold  fingers  on  hers  grew  colder. 

Then  their  feeble  clasp  had  gone,  but  the  bird  sang  on. 

She  rose  unsteadily,  drew  the  plaid  over  his  face,  and 
left  the  tent.  She  did  not  seem  to  realise  the  presence 
of  others. 

Andrew  ran  after  her. 

"  Marrion,  Marrion,  whaur  are  ye  gaun  ?  Ye  poor,  poor 
thing ! "  he  whispered  hoarsely  in  the  extremity  of  his 
bewildered  grief.     "  Bide  a  wee,  and  I'll  see  ye  haim." 

"  I  am  going  to  walk  home,"  she  said  dully.  "  It  will 
do  me  good.  I  must — I  must  do  something — and  I  must 
be  alone." 

So  she  walked  over  the  meadows,  crushing  the  drifts 
of  purple  colchicum  under  her  feet.  What  had  he  called 
the  flower  of  death  ?  Ah,  the  iris !  That  would  come 
in  the  spring.  It  would  flower  on  his  grave  perhaps. 
And  all  the  time  she  felt  his  cold  hand  on  hers,  she  heard 


MARMADUKE  217 

the  bird's  full  song.  How  he  would  have  loved  to  hear 
it !     Perhaps  he  had. 

It  was  dark  ere  she  reached  the  vine  pergola  where 
they  had  been  so  happy,  and  she  started  when  a  tall 
officer  in  Highland  costume  came  towards  her.  Was  it 
all  a  bad  dream  ?  Was  she  waking  to  find  him  still  her 
own  ?  But  he  was  only  the  bearer  of  a  kindly  message 
from  the  regiment  to  say  that  the  colonel  was  to  be 
buried  at  dawn,  and  that  if  Mrs.  Marsden 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  Mrs.  Marsden  ?"  she  asked 
sharply.     "Andrew  Fraser?" 

The  officer  bowed  and  went  on. 

"  As  one  of  the  colonel's  oldest  friends,  would  care " 

She  shook  her  head.  She  was  grateful.  It  was  a  kind 
thought.  But  Colonel  Muir  was  Colonel  Muir  and 
everybody  loved  him — he  would  have  enough  friends. 

"Madam,"  said  the  young  officer,  with  a  break  in  his 
voice,  "  when  we  lower  him  into  his  solitary  grave — he 
is  to  be  buried  on  the  hill  above  his  tent  where  he  sat  so 
often — we  shall  all  know  that  the  finest  fellow  in  the 
regiment,  nay,  in  the  whole  army,  has  gone  from  us/' 

She  lay  that  night,  her  face  crushed  into  the  pillow 
without  a  sob.  Only  once  or  twice  she  whispered  to 
herself. 

"Ah,  Duke,  Duke,  Fm  glad  I  made  you  happy — so 
glad — so  glad  !" 

She  was  up  betimes  to  take  her  stand  on  a  neigh- 
bouring hill,  where,  unobserved,  she  could  watch  him  laid 
to  his  rest.  Not  a  tent  was  to  be  seen ;  the  battalion  had 
shifted  quarters  during  the  night ;  the  forward  march  to 
which  he  had  looked  with  such  longing  had  begun, 
and  he 


218  MARMADUKE 

Close  by  the  belt  of  forest  trees  she  could  see  his  dis- 
mantled hut;  a  heap  of  packed  baggage  piled  close  by 
with  a  sentry  on  guard  beside  it.  But  the  arbour  hid 
what  it  held.  So,  as  the  sun  rose,  the  leaden  beat  of  the 
Dead  March  rose,  as  the  regiment,  followed  by  detach- 
ments from  all  and  every  regiment  in  Varna,  drew  up  in 
a  lane  to  let  the  artillery  with  a  gun-carriage  draped 
with  the  colours  pass  up. 

Just  his  coat,  his  plaid,  his  sword,  his  bonnet,  that 
was  all.  And  after  him  his  grey  Arab — the  one  she  had 
ridden — fully  dressed.  That  was  Andrew  on  the  one 
side,  and  the  other  three?  Generals,  she  supposed,  by 
their  uniforms. 

What  a  crowd  of  officers  !  And  the  men,  marching  so 
slowly  to  the  muffled  beat !  Would  they  never  reach 
the  grave? 

At  last.  Now  there  were  some  words  of  command — 
heard  vaguely  as  inarticulate  cries — the  long  procession 
formed  up,  massed  itself  into  a  hollow  square. 

They  must  be  reading  the  service  now. 

"  Being  dead  yet  liveth — yet  liveth — yet  liveth " 

She  held  fast  to  that,  as  her  eyes  travelled  where  his 
had  so  often  rested  in  content — thank  God  for  that — 
in  sheer  content. 

So,  as  she  looked  at  the  wide  expanse  of  hill  and 
valley,  lake  and  sea,  those  half-heard  words  of  his  came 
back  to  memory — "  I've  done  it — I  have  done  it !" 

What  had  he  done  ? 

The  sharp  rattle  of  musketry  roused  her.  Again, 
again !  The  Last  Post  had  been  set.  The  last  honour 
paid. 

A  minute's  pause.     Then  the  bands  struck  up  their 


MARMADUKE  219 

regimental  marches,  orders  followed  sharp  and  incisive. 
So  with  a  swing  the  men  stepped  out,  only  a  little  knot 
of  officers  remaining  to  see  the  grave  filled  in.  She  must 
wait  till  they  had  gone.  Shifting  her  position  to  one  of 
greater  ease,  she  rested  her  aching  head  upon  a  tussock 
of  sweet  thyme  that  was  shaded  by  a  rugged  scarp  of 
rock. 

And  so,  wearied  out  with  her  sleepless  night,  with 
utter  despair  and  misery  she  dozed  off,  sinking  deeper 
and  deeper  into  slumber,  all  grief  forgotten,  peaceful  as  a 
child.     The  long  hours  passed,  yet  still  she  slept. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  almost  sun-setting.  Over  the 
far  sea,  shadowy  outlines  and  still  more  shadowy  trails 
of  smoke  told  that  the  argosy  of  an  army  had  started 
for  the  Crimea.  Not  a  tent  was  to  be  seen.  They  had 
folded  their  white  wings  and  gone.  Already  the  popu- 
lace had  cleared  away  all  that  had  been  left  behind.  The 
hill-sides  showed  bare  without  a  trace  of  humanity.  His 
very  hut  had  disappeared,  the  arbour  was  broken  down, 
its  scarlet  fruits  rifled.  Only  on  the  mossy  plateau 
below  the  scarp  at  her  feet  lay  a  heap  of  stones. 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  throb.  She  had  not  thought 
of  that,  but  a  cairn  was  meet  and  fitting.  And  how 
many  men  of  his  regiment  had  gone  there,  even  amid 
their  busy-ness,  to  throw  one  stone  for  the  sake  of  their 
love  and  respect ! 

She  must  throw  one,  too ;  at  least,  she  could  do  that ! 

Her  composure  was  almost  terrible.  She  picked  up  a 
little  moss-grown  quartz  pebble,  and,  going  down,  laid 
it  where  she  judged  those  folded  hands  of  his  must  rest. 

"  That's  my  heart,  Duke  !"  she  said.  "  It's  cold — cold 
as  a  stone." 


220  MARMADUKE 

Steps  behind  her  made  her  turn.  It  was  Andrew 
Fraser,  his  lean  face  all  blistered  with  the  tears  he  had 
shed. 

"  My  puir  lammie !"  he  said.  "  I  thocht  I  might  find 
you  here  when  you  werna  at  the  hoose,  and  the  woman 
was  wae  to  know  what  had  become  o'  you." 

The  very  warmth  of  his  sympathy  roused  antagonism. 

"  I  was  just  going  back.     Do  you  want  me  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  almost  pitifully. 

"  It'll  be  no  comfort  tae  you  to  ken  that  I'm  as  fu  o' 
grief  as  you,  Marrion.  But  I  had  tae  see  ye  before  we 
left.  I  got  leave  till  the  last.  Oh,  my  lassie,  is  there 
naethin*  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Nothing,  Andrew,  except  hold  your  tongue.  The 
past  is  gone  for  ever!" 

And  as  she  walked  down  the  hill  with  him  her  clasped 
hands  bit  into  each  other  with  bitter  strength.  Was  it 
for  this  she  had  planned  and  protected  ?  But,  thank 
God,  she  had  made  him  happy  at  the  last ! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

In  after  years  the  next  four  days  appeared  to  Marrion 
as  a  blank.  She  went  on  with  her  work,  she  shed  no 
tears  except  when  she  was  asleep.  She  did  not  even 
think.  In  the  late  evenings,  when  work  was  over,  she 
would  ride  or  drive  to  where  the  Highlanders'  camp  had 
stood  and  sit  silent  for  an  hour  or  two  on  the  cairn  about 
Marmaduke's  grave,  doing  nothing.  She  brought  no 
flowers,  the  sight  of  his  grave  gave  her  no  more  poignant 
grief.  Indeed,  often  as  she  looked  out  eastwards  over 
the  sea,  with  all  the  glorious  trending  of  sunlit,  sun- 
shadowed  hills  and  dales  towards  it,  she  would  feel 
calmly  that  he  would  have  admired  it  as  much  as  she 
did. 

Yet  underneath  all  her  calm  lurked  a  regret  that  grew 
with  the  days. 

He  had  been  left  behind,  and  he  had  been  so  eager  to 
go.  Even  those  last  words  of  his — *  I  have  done  it " 
— were  poor  comfort. 

So,  confusedly,  out  of  this  regret  and  the  memory  of 
those  other  words  of  his — "  I  have  found  you,  or  rather 
I  have  found  myself,  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever  " — arose 
the  idea  of  getting  to  the  Crimea  herself,  if  she  could. 
She  could  at  least  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  regiment  of 
which  he  had  been  so  fond,  so  proud.  Besides,  home  had 
no  call  for  her.     She  had  no  ties  there  and  the  prospect 


222  MARMADUKE 

of  a  long  life  without  them  was  appalling.  Far  better  to 
die  out  here  as  he  had  died.  But  the  interest  of  Varna 
had  passed.  The  tragedy  of  the  fire  had  ousted  the 
tragedy  of  disease  and  starvation.  The  cholera  had 
ceased,  the  city  was  almost  depopulated,  so  the  problem 
of  many  mouths  and  no  food  had  disappeared. 

Once  the  idea  of  following  the  regiment  presented 
itself  to  her  it  became  an  obsession.  She  made  up  her 
mind  that  if  it  could  be  compassed  she  would  do  what 
she  could  for  its  brave  men;  then  if  death  did  not  inter- 
vene— which  she  hoped  it  might — she  could  come  back 
to  where  Duke  lay  and  tell  him  she  had  carried  him  in 
her  heart  all  the  way.  So  she  set  to  work  to  think  out 
the  means.  Her  shaven  and  shorn  head — as  he  had 
called  it — might  facilitate  matters;  for  she  might  pose 
as  a  youth  of  one  of  the  many  uncouth  peoples  gathered 
round  by  greed  of  gain.  Varna  was  a  polyglot  place, 
and  she  knew  enough  Turkish  now  to  render  English 
unnecessary. 

While  still  nebulous,  however,  her  plans  were  suddenly 
settled  for  her  by  the  arrival  in  port  of  the  very  Turkish 
mail  steamer  in  which  she  had  sailed  from  Marseilles. 
The  little  doctor  naturally  enough  called  on  his  -protegee, 
full  of  the  fine  reports  he  had  heard  of  her  from  old 
Achmet.  The  ship  had  been  requisitioned  and  he  was 
on  his  way  to  Eupatoria  with  medical  stores  for  the 
Turkish  contingent,  which  expected  to  land  there.  The 
opportunity  seemed  too  good  to  be  lost.  She  begged 
him  to  arrange  for  her  to  go  so  far,  pointing  out  that  she 
had  proved  her  capacity  for  usefulness.  After  a  few 
demurs  he  consented.  She  left  everything  standing  in 
Varna  and  three  days  afterwards  found  herself  survey- 
ing the  beach  at  Kalamita  Bay,  a  few  miles  south  of 


MARMADUKE  223 

Eupatoria,  which  had  been  taken  the  night  before  by  the 
expedition  without  the  exchange  of  a  shot.     It  was  a 
shingly  beach  or  bar  but  a  few  feet  wide,  behind  which 
lay  a  long,  narrow,  sedge-set  lake  of  salt  water.     From 
this    rose,    with    deafening    clamour,    thousands    upon 
thousands  of  wild  fowl  alarmed  by  the  unaccustomed 
presence  of  man,  their  wailing  cries  almost  drowning  the 
long  surge  of  the  sea  upon  the  shingly  beach  and  the 
oaths  and  confusion  inseparable  from  the  disembarka- 
tion of  so  many  troops.     Beyond  this  salt  lake  rose  a 
high  bank  of  red  clay  serrated  by  many  small  ravines, 
while  over  this  again  the  wide  plain,  dotted  with  cattle, 
corn-ricks,  and  farmhouses,  showed  a  land  where  sup- 
plies should  be  plentiful.     In  the  far  distance  could  be 
seen,  dimly  blue,  the  hills  behind  Sebastopol,  which  lay 
some  seven  and  twenty  miles  to  the  south.     In  deference 
to  the  little  doctor's  recommendation  she  remained  on 
board  and  was  thus  free  to  watch  the  humour  and  diffi- 
culties  of  the  disembarkation.      Both  were  numerous. 
The  heavy  surf  made  the  passage  of  boats  to  the  shore 
dangerous,  but   the   blue- jackets   were   over  the   sides 
almost  before  they  could  foot  bottom,  and,  aided  by 
those  landed  before — who,  naked  as  the  day  they  were 
born,  rushed  into  the  sea  to  help — generally  succeeded 
in  beaching  their  cargo  high  and  dry.     To  little  pur- 
pose, so  far  as  the  men  were  concerned,  since  it  was  "  off 
uniform  "  in  a  second,  and  into  the  water  to  help  the 
next  arrivals.     Luckily  the  day  was  sultry  and  warm. 
The  landing  of  the  cavalry  horses  presented  the  greatest 
difficulty,  for  even  after  confinement  on  shipboard  the 
dry  shingle  was  not  sufficient  bait  to  induce  them  to  walk 
the  plank  alone;  so  that  they  had  to  be  ridden,  and  as 
three  out  of  six  went  souse  into  the  sea  it  was  provoca- 


224  MARMADUKE 

tive  of  much  merriment — for  even  in  those  days  the 
British  soldier  was  light-hearted.  The  men,  therefore, 
wrung  their  wet  clothes  out  cheerfully,  and  the  horses 
dried  themselves  by  rolling  in  the  patches  of  sun-baked 
sand,  for  the  day  was  glorious.  Yet  the  discomfort  was 
hard,  the  work  harder ;  but,  despite  it  all,  Thomas  Atkins 
found  time  to  nickname  the  Crim-Tartar  population  who 
came  down,  curious  but  friendly,  to  view  the  scene,  by 
the  strangely  inappropriate  and  colourless  appellation 
of  "Joey,"  one  which  nevertheless  stuck  firm  all  through 
the  Crimean  War. 

So  the  day  passed;  but  the  afternoon  promised  a 
storm,  and  Marrion  was  anxious  to  get  on  shore  and 
make  arrangements,  if  she  could,  for  stopping  there.  As 
she  was  watching  she  saw  a  gig  going  ashore  to  the  Old 
Fort  with  a  woman  in  it — a  woman  who  was  received 
with  plaudits  by  the  whole  army.  At  the  time  she  could 
not  conceive  who  it  could  be,  though  she  afterwards 
found  out  it  was  the  Countess  of  Erroll.  The  incident, 
however,  gave  her  courage;  she  persuaded  the  little 
doctor  to  allow  her  to  land,  and,  accompanied  by  him 
and  in  her  Turkish  dress,  she  found  a  night's  lodging  in 
one  of  the  nearest  farm-houses.  Nor  had  she  to  pay  for 
it  overmuch,  for  the  Crim-Tartarians  were  kindly,  honest 
folk  ready  to  welcome  brothers  and  sisters  of  Islam. 
Indeed,  they  looked  upon  the  new-comers  as  a  possible 
deliverance  from  Russian  rule.  It  was  lucky  this  was 
so,  thought  Marrion,  as  with  the  sinking  of  day  a  violent 
storm  of  wind  and  rain  swept  the  beach,  drenching  the 
fifty  thousand  men  who  were  without  tents.  They  dug 
holes  for  themselves  in  the  shingle,  spread  their  great- 
coats atop,  and  joked  away  discomfort  even  though 


MARMADUKE  225 

death  stalked  among  them  and  the  terrible  scourge, 
cholera,  they  hoped  they  had  left  behind  them,  claimed 
not  a  few  victims  before  morning. 

They  were  cheerful  as  ever,  nevertheless,  next  day 
while  the  work  of  disembarkation  went  on.  Marrion 
watched  it  from  afar,  finding  a  Varna  friend  or  two  in 
the  Turkish  contingent,  but  sheering  off  from  the  regi- 
ment for  fear  of  recognition — especially  by  Andrew 
Fraser.  She  was  not  ready  for  that  yet.  So  three  days 
passed  and  it  was  not  till  the  nineteenth  that  the  army 
of  some  fifty  thousand  men  moved  on  towards  Sebas- 
topol.  About  a  third  of  the  way  thither  the  enemy  was 
said  to  be  strongly  entrenched  on  the  banks  of  the  Alma 
river.  Why  he  had  not  attacked  during  the  confusion 
of  disembarkation  was  a  subject  of  much  comment,  and 
all  agreed  it  must  be  because  the  position  they  held  on 
the  river  was  supposed  to  be  impregnable.  Why,  there- 
fore, leave  it  ? 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Lord  Raglan  succinctly. 
He  was  an  old  man,  as  indeed  were  almost  all  the 
leaders  in  the  Crimean  War,  but  he  was  full  of  the  fire  of 
youth. 

The  march  was  a  gay  one  despite  the  fact  that  it  was 
over  stony  barren  steppes;  but  the  hares  that  started 
up  so  often  seemed  made  to  be  chivied,  when,  confused, 
they  got  between  the  men's  legs,  and  many  a  warrior 
strung  one  secretly  under  his  knapsack  against  a  savoury 
supper.  And  songs  were  sung,  the  "  Tipperary  "  of  the 
time,  and  jokes  made  with  "Joey"  who,  all  along  the 
line,  came  out  affably,  ready  to  trade. 

But  the  sight  of  the  red  Alma  cliffs  that  had  to  be 
stormed  on  the  morrow  sobered  some,  and  Marrion,  from 

*5 


226  MARMADUKE 

another  farmhouse  where  she  had  obtained  shelter, 
watched  the  evening  sun  redden  them  still  more,  and 
thought  of  the  blood  that  would  be  shed  on  them  to- 
morrow with  sick  loathing. 

It  was  grey  dawn  when  she  rose,  slipped  on  a 
youth's  dress  she  had  brought  with  her,  and,  packing  a 
few  necessaries  in  a  small  bundle,  waited  for  the  reveille. 
But  none  came.  On  that  fateful  morning  of  the  20th 
September,  1854,  the  whole  force  of  twenty  thousand 
British  bayonets  and  sabres  assembled  in  silence.  For 
a  watchful  enemy  awaited  them  beyond  the  sluggish  tor- 
tuous river  that  wound  its  way  to  the  sea  amid  sparse 
vineyards.  Far  away  to  the  right  the  horizon  of  open 
sea  showed  a  massing  of  grey  hulks  and  twinkling  lights. 
That  was  the  Fleet  ready  to  aid  as  it  could.  Further 
afield,  beyond  the  debouching  of  the  cliffs,  seven  thou- 
sand Turkish  troops  prevented  a  flank  attack.  Then 
came  the  French  twenty  thousand  face  to  face  with  the 
most  formidable  part  of  the  cliff  nearest  the  sea.  After 
that  the  British.  Marrion,  through  her  spy-glass,  could 
see  the  Highlanders  standing,  their  faces  set  and  deter- 
mined. This  was  to  be  their  first  brush  with  the 
enemy,  and  many  of  them  had  waited  for  it  so  long. 
Eight  months  since  Duke  had  brought  her  news  of  battle 
in  the  little  London  house !  And  now  he  lay  in  his 
solitary  grave  while  his  men  fought. 

Still  silence.  It  was  past  nine  o'clock  now,  and  the 
troops  stood  motionless  as  if  on  parade.  Here  and  there, 
in  low  scrub  on  the  opposite  bank,  an  enemy's  battery 
showed,  ready  no  doubt  for  instant  action  on  the  firing 
of  the  first  shot.  And,  every  now  and  then,  bayonet- 
points  and  the  heads  of  men  seen  for  a  second  or  two 


MARMADUKE  227 

against  the  sky-line,  told  of  infantry  ready  to  receive 
attack.  But  there  were  no  skirmishers,  no  attempt  to 
force  on  strife. 

"No  possible  advance  there,"  said  the  Chief  of  the 
Staff  at  the  war  council  that  was  being  held  in  the  open, 
as  he  pointed  on  the  map  to  the  cliffs  facing  the  sea.  "  I 
wish  there  were,  for,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  Menschikoff  has 
left  it  unguarded." 

A  Colonel  of  the  Zouaves  looked  critically  at  the  con- 
tours, then  turned  to  the  Marquis  St.  Arnaud — 

"My  children  are  good  climbers,  sir;  may  we  not 
try  ?" 

"  They  shall,"  replied  the  French  Commander-in- 
Chief.  So  the  attack  was  ordered.  On  the  extreme 
right,  the  French  were  to  throw  out  skirmishers,  tackle 
the  cliff,  charge  over  the  first  narrow  plateau,  and  so, 
up  the  next  bank,  reach  the  plain  above.  Then,  when 
the  attack  in  flank  had  really  commenced,  the  British 
would  deliver  a  frontal  one. 

As  he  rode  back  to  his  own  lines  the  Marquis  St. 
Arnaud  paused  to  take  the  British  salute  with  the  words, 
"I  hope  you  will  fight  well  to-day."  To  which  came 
rapid  reply  in  a  voice  from  the  56th  Regiment — "  Don't 
you  know  we  will  ?" 

Whereat  in  long  rolling  reverberations  from  company 
to  company,  from  battalion  to  battalion,  rose  a  deafening 
cheer.     It  was  the  first  sound  of  the  battle  of  the  Alma. 

And  hark !  A  disconnected  rattle  of  rifle  shots ! 
The  skirmishers  are  out  among  the  rocks ;  and  now,  like 
goats  up  invisible  paths,  their  full  red  pantaloons  redder 
than  the  red  clay,  the  Zouaves  show  in  single  file — here, 
there,  everywhere  like  streamlets  of  blood.     Incredible 


228  MARMADUKE 

pluck  !  Astounding  agility  !  But  they  are  up.  The 
first  vantage  ground  is  gained ;  they  pause  to  collect  the 
skirmishers  and  sound  the  fas  de  charge — that  muffled 
pulse  beat  that,  throbbing  destruction,  grows  louder  and 
louder  and  louder,  drowning  all  but  sheer  lust  of  blood. 
On  they  go,  only  to  receive  the  fire  from  a  Russian 
battery  posted  above. 

So  the  advance  goes  on,  but  it  goes  slower.  That 
salvo  on  the  Zouaves  opened  the  ball,  and  now,  trundling 
among  the  ranks  of  the  British,  come  round  shot  and 
shrapnel,  dealing  death  and  disablement. 

The  fas  de  charge  continues,  but  it  is  perforce  slow. 
"  Pass  the  order  to  lie  down,"  says  Lord  Raglan ;  and, 
obedient,  though  straining  at  the  leash,  the  British  troops 
lie  down  while  the  enemy's  shot  fall  among  them  still 
dealing  death  and  disablement  at  every  round. 

"  How  goes  the  French  attack  ?"  he  queries  hastily,  as 
an  aide-de-camp  dashes  up  at  1.50  p.m. 

"They  are  across  and  up,  sir,  but  not  sufficiently 
established  to  warrant  our  starting." 

Lord  Raglan  fumes.  His  blood  was  up,  his  men  were 
being  shot  at  without  reply. 

"Give  the  order  for  general  advance,"  he  said,  stak- 
ing all,  rashly  enough,  on  the  hazard  of  brave  troops; 
but  if  he  staked  rashly  he  staked  wisely.  The  serried 
masses  of  men  rose  with  ringing  cheers,  dashing  on 
through  a  belt  of  fire  from  the  opposite  heights,  floun- 
dered somehow  through  the  river,  and  paused  for  a 
second  to  take  breath  in  the  vineyards  below  the  steeps. 
But  formation  had  been  lost.  It  was  sheer  onslaught. 
At  the  head  of  the  advance  rode  Lord  Raglan  himself, 
regardless  of  the  gaps  in  his  Staff.     Sir  George  Brown, 


MARMADUKE  229 

leading  the  Light  Division,  goes  down  in  a  cloud  of  dust 
before  a  Russian  battery.  "Go  on,  23rd,"  he  shouts; 
"I'm  all  right,  but  be  sure  I'll  remember  this  day, 
boys!" 

Further  to  the  left  Colin  Campbell  in  front  of  the 
Highlanders  calls  back  to  them:  "Keep  yere  fingers 
frae  the  triggers,  men,  till  ye're  within  a  yaird  o*  them." 
And  they  did.  Colin  Campbell's  horse  is  down  under 
him,  but  he  is  up  again  charging  a  battery  on  foot  and 
calling  to  the  Guards  who  came  up  in  support,  "We 
wrant  nane  but  Hie'land  bonnets  here."  But  the  Guards 
were  firm.  Steady,  in  even  line,  without  a  waver  in  the 
black  bearskins,  they  came  on  resistless,  making  one 
man   in  the  Light  Division  mutter  under  his  breath, 

"D them,  wasting  time  in  dressing  up  as  if  they 

were  on  a  parade  ground  !"  For  all  that  they  had 
stormed  the  right  end  of  the  most  powerful  battery  al- 
most before  the  Highlanders  had  got  in  on  the  left.  A 
few  minutes  later  the  1st  and  2nd  divisions  crowned  the 
crest.  The  French,  finding  their  objective,  turned  their 
own  guns  upon  the  flying  enemy.  There  were  a  few 
faint  struggles  by  the  infantry,  a  few  more  rounds  of 
artillery,  and  the  Russians  were  in  full  flight,  leaving 
over  four  thousand  dead  and  wounded  on  the  battle- 
field. So  Alma's  heights  were  won,  but  at  a  cost  which 
saddened  the  victory ;  for  out  of  a  total  of  fourteen  thou- 
sand British  troops  employed,  one  thousand  four  hun- 
dred, or  one  in  ten,  were  dead  or  wounded.  The  French 
had  suffered  as  much,  so  General  Canrobert's  face  was 
grave  as  he  rode  up  at  the  close  of  the  day  to  exclaim : 
"  I  ask  of  Fortune  but  this  !  May  I  command  an  English 
corps  for  three  short  weeks,  then  could  I  die  happy." 


230  MARMADUKE 

And  the  English  commander's  voice  was  graver  still  as 
he  replied  :  "  I  could  not  command  a  French  corps.  They 
would  outpace  me."  And  in  truth  the  Zouaves'  rapid, 
flame-like  spread  from  crag  to  crag,  their  ceaseless 
fusillade  meanwhile,  had  been  all-astonishing  and  had 
paralysed  the  foe  completely.  But  now  the  laurel  wreath 
of  victory  was  fading,  the  cypress  garland  of  death  was 
taking  its  place.  It  had  been  a  three  hours'  hand  to 
hand  infantry  battle,  and  the  late  September  sun  was 
sinking  when  the  living  turned  to  look  after  their  fallen 
comrades,  for  in  those  days  ambulance  corps  were  in 
their  infancy  and  Red  Cross  was  not.  The  wounded 
soldier  lay  as  he  fell,  dying,  mayhap  for  want  of  care, 
even  for  a  drink  of  water.  There  were  hundreds  such 
upon  the  heights  they  had  won,  as  Marrion  Paul,  taking 
advantage  of  the  fast  coming  darkness,  began  her  round. 
She  was  provided  with  water,  brandy,  a  few  simple  liga- 
ments and  bandages.  At  Varna  she  had  had  not  a  few 
wounded  Turkish  soldiers  from  the  Danube  in  old 
Achmet's  hospital;  but  this  was  different.  There  the 
wounds  seemed  a  disease;  here  you  felt  the  keen  horror 
of  cold  steel  and  rifle  bullet  close  at  hand ;  you  realised 
the  futility,  the  wickedness  of  it.  She  avoided  the 
salients  where  the  dead  and  wounded  lay  thickest,  for 
there  help  was  already  being  given,  and  men  were  going 
to  and  fro  with  stretchers ;  but  in  one  or  two  of  the  little 
gullies  she  found  someone  to  tend  until,  darkness  clos- 
ing, she  became  more  brave,  and  lighting  the  little  lamp 
with  which  she  had  provided  herself,  she  ventured  more 
into  the  open.  Here  it  was  pitiful;  the  dead  lay  in 
clusters,  their  faces  as  a  rule  upturned  to  the  stars.  The 
stretcher-bearers  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  behind 


MARMADUKE  231 

those  to  whom  they  were  useless — as  yet.  She  knelt 
beside  one  dead  man  and  wiped  away  a  blood  stain 
from  his  forehead.  He  had  been  orderly  once  to  Duke. 
Poor  soul !  Some  woman  would  doubtless  wish  she  had 
been  in  her,  Marrion's,  place.  And  now  the  whole  hill- 
side was  lit  up  by  wandering  lights,  the  lights  of  men 
searching  for  their  bosom  friends,  for  their  officers.  But 
there  were  other  lights,  too,  though  she  did  not  think  of 
them  as  different — the  lights  of  the  pilferers,  the  carrion 
crows,  who  crept  about  to  rifle  dead  men's  pockets. 
There  were  more  of  them  here  on  the  level  where  the 
dead  and  wounded  Russians  lay  in  heaps;  some,  sup- 
ported by  the  bodies  of  others,  remained  still  in  the  atti- 
tude of  firing,  their  rifles  still  in  their  hands,  their  faces 
curiously  peaceful.  Well,  they  had  died  doing  their 
duty. 

A  faint  call  came  from  a  man  who  lay,  his  head  half- 
resting  on  the  breast  of  a  dead  comrade.  She  turned  to 
him  at  once,  throwing  her  lamp-light  on  his  face.  Extra- 
ordinarily good-looking,  so  young,  so  near  death.  She 
saw  these  things  at  a  glance,  guessing  he  was  shot 
through  the  lungs  as  his  breath  came  in  soft  pitiful  gasps. 
She  knelt  to  offer  him  a  drink,  but  he  shook  his  head. 
Evidently  his  eyes  were  already  dim,  for  he  whispered 
in  broken  English  :  "  Good — gentlemens — take — take — 
my  heart."  She  leaned  closer  to  catch  his  words,  think- 
ing bitterly  as  she  did  so  that  he  took  her  for  his  enemy 
— his  enemy — while  her  whole  heart  was  going  out  in 
pity  for  such  as  he. 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  said  tenderly.  "Your 
heart — what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"My  heart,"  he  gasped  painfully — "here!"     And  his 


232  MARMADUKE 

limp  arm,  lying  helplessly  beside  him,  crooked  itself  in 
supreme  effort,  and  the  hand  fell  on  his  breast. 
A  sudden  comprehension  came  to  her. 
"You    want    me    to    take    something    from    your 
heart  ?" 

His  dim  eyes  smiled  faintly. 

«  Yes — good  gentlemens,"  he  whispered ;  it  was  almost 
a  sigh,  but  it  held  content.     "Take — give !" 

She  understood  now,  though  a  faint  shiver  through 
the  young  body  told  her  that  the  speaking  soul  had 
gone.  Here  again  was  Love  transcending  Death ! 
Quietly  she  laid  down  the  head  she  had  been  supporting, 
closed  the  eyes,  and  opening  the  grey  tunic  began  her 
search,  her  mind  rapt  away  from  her  surroundings  by 
thoughts  of  Duke.  Her  hand  had  just  found  a  thin 
chain,  when  a  rough  clutch  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  and 
she  was  wrenched  to  her  feet  with  such  force  that  the 
chain  giving  way  left  her  standing  with  something  hang- 
ing from  her  hand. 

"Caught  in  the  act!"  said  a  rough  voice.  "Shoot 
the  young  devil,  sergeant !" 

Something  cold  touched  her  forehead.  Her  heart 
gave  a  great  bound.  Was  this  death — oh,  Duke — 
Duke! 

The  flash  of  a  bull's-eye  lantern  turned  full  on  her 
showed  her  face  deadly  pale  but  Arm. 

"Hold  hard!"  cried  another  voice  hastily.  "The 
fellow  carries  a  water-bottle — of  our  pattern,  too !  Give 
the  devil  his  due,  Mac." 

She  could  see  faintly  now.  They  were  Highlanders ; 
a  search  party  evidently,  and  the  blood  rushed  back  tp 
heart  and  face, 


MARMADUKE  233 

"I'm  doing  no  harm!"  she  cried  hotly.  "He  asked 
me — to  take  and  give — his  heart/' 

At  her  first  word  the  cold  nozzle  of  the  revolver  had 
left  her  forehead. 

"By  God  I"  came  in  a  murmur;  but  for  the  most  part 
the  little  group  of  men  were  startled  out  of  speech  and 
stood  staring  at  the  figure  before  them,  holding  out  in 
apology  what  it  held. 

It  was  only  a  pinchbeck  locket  with  a  woman's  face  in 
it — a  pinchbeck  locket  in  the  form  of  a  heart. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here  in  that  kit,  you 
young  oaf  ?"  said  an  angry  voice  at  last.     "  I  as  nearly 

shot  you  as  a  carrion  crow  as  ever "     It  paused; 

something  in  the  situation  seemed  to  bring  silence.  The 
stars  overhead,  the  dead  lover  at  their  feet,  the  tall,  slim 
mysterious  figure  holding  out  the  symbol  of  something 
that  had  survived  death. 

"  You  had  better  go  on,  Mac,"  said  the  voice  that  had 
advised  caution,  finally  breaking  the  stillness.  "I  will 
use  this  young  fool's  lantern  and  that  will  make  two 
search  parties.  We  have  little  time  to  spare.  I'll  see 
him  safe.  You'd  better  take  the  orderlies  with  you. 
They  have  appliances  and  will  know  what  to  do.  I  can 
manage." 

"  As  you  please,  doctor,"  came  the  reply. 
When  they  had  gone  the  man  they  had  called  doctor 
took  up  Marrion's  lantern  and  seemed  to  examine  its 
light,  turning  it  finally  full  on  his  face;  and  suddenly 
he  spoke. 

"Mrs.    Marsden "     Marrion    could   not    avoid    a 

start. 

"Mrs.  Marsden  !"  she  echoed  faiptly. 


234  MARMADUKE 

"Yes.  You  don't  recognise  me  evidently.  Indeed, 
I  doubt  if  you  ever  saw  me,  but  I  was  with  poor  Muir 
when  he  died.  Andrew  Fraser  had  to  tell  me — some- 
thing— before  I  would  let  you  come,  and  your  face  and 
hair  aren't  easily  forgotten.  I  guess  why  you  are  here ; 
but  it  isn't  safe — in  fact,  it's  impossible ;  but  if  you  will 
go  back  now  and  come  to  my  hospital — Dr.  Foisyth — 
in  English  dress,  please — I  think  I  can  settle  you  to  work 
— something  that  will  prevent  your  being  taken  for  a 
Crim-Tartar  thief,"  he  added  grimly.  "  It's  lucky  I  have 
a  good  memory  for  faces." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  have  cared,"  said  Marrion,  but 
he  took  no  notice  of  her  defiance. 

"As  for  this  poor  chap,"  he  knelt  down  beside  the 
Russian  and  laid  his  hand  over  the  heart.  "  Dead  as  a 
door  nail,  ceased  to  beat — wonder  where  he  wanted  to 
send  it.     Is  there  a  name  at  the  back  ?" 

Marrion  bent  to  the  light. 

"  A  name  and  an  address." 

The  doctor  jumped  up  lightly. 

"  Being  dead  he  yet  speaketh,"  he  remarked  cheerfully. 
"  Now  if  you  will  please  go  back  I  will  go  on.  We  have 
to  find  poor  Grant ;  he  was  last  seen  on  the  crest  leading 
his  men,  with  Andrew  Fraser — the  colonel's  servant,  you 
remember — just  behind  him." 

"Andrew!"  exclaimed  Marrion,  with  a  sort  of  sob. 
"Is  he  killed,  too?" 

"  Killed  or  missing,"  called  Dr.  Forsyth,  as  he  turned 
away  to  rejoin  his  party. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  scene  which  met  Marrion's  eyes  when  soon  after 
daybreak  she  went  over  to  the  hospital  tents  beggars 
description.  The  wounded,  many  of  them  as  yet  un- 
tended,  lay  almost  in  heaps,  stretcher-bearers  were  hurry- 
ing along,  slipping  on  the  clotted  blood  from  many 
wounds,  carrying  those  who  had  been  seen  to  and  could 
be  moved  to  the  boats  for  removal  to  Scutari.  There 
was  a  low  inarticulate  wail  of  moaning  in  the  air,  broken 
by  sudden  screams  of  pain.  Two  or  three  women  were 
busy  giving  water,  trying  to  soothe  pain,  and  now  and 
again  a  doctor  with  bare  arms  incarnadined  with  blood 
passed  hurriedly  to  more  work. 

"It  is  worse  than  I  expected,"  said  Dr.  Forsyth  over 
his  shoulder  to  Marrion.  f'Do  what  you  can,  will 
you  ?" 

And  she  did,  wondering  vaguely  that  she  had  not 
noticed  that  curious  face  when  she  had  first  seen  it ;  the 
eyes  alone  were  so  unlike  any  she  had  ever  seen  before — 
greeny  gold,  with  a  dark  rim  round  the  iris.  A  hawk's 
eye,  surely ! 

"  Mrs.  Marsden,  I  want  you,"  came  an  imperative  voice 
half  an  hour  later,  "  follow  me." 

He  was  there  again,  and  she  followed  him  blindly  into 
a  small  tent. 

"The  ambulance  and  stores  have  been  left  behind 


236  MARMADUKE 

somewhere,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  God  damn  them  !  We 
have  no  chloroform  left — they  only  served  us  out  a 
thimbleful,  though  Simpson  demonstrated  its  absolute 
necessity  seven  years  ago — curse  the  lot — and  now  a  case 
has  just  come  in.  It's  life  or  death  and  the  others  won't 
touch  it,  but  I  will.  See  here,  I  was  with  Esdaile  in 
India  and  I  know  it  can  be  done.  If  only  I  haven't  the 
seats  of  the  scornful  by  me — I  think  you'll  believe — you 
haven't  your  face  for  nothing,  and  I  must  have  help.  Give 
it  me  ?" 

He  held  out  his  thin  nervous  hands,  so  strangely  full 

of  grip,  as  he  spoke ;  his  eyes  found  hers  and  held  them. 

"  I  will  give  you  what  I  can,"  she  said  at  once. 

"That's  right!"  he  replied,  his  buoyancy  back  in  an 

instant.     "  But  you  will  need  all  your  nerve,  I  tell  you. 

Now  help  me  to  get  the  poor  fellow  into  position." 

"  Let  me  die,  doctor,"  moaned  the  patient,  who  lay  on 
the  doctor's  truckle  bed.     "  It  is  agony  to  move." 

"No,  it  isn't !"  replied  Dr.  Forsyth  firmly.  "You  are 
making  a  mistake.  You  have  no  pain,  at  least  not  much, 
and  you  are  going  to  lose  it  altogether  soon.  There ! 
That's  more  comfortable,  isn't  it  ?" 

He  was  busy  now  arranging  knives  and  instruments 
on  a  clean  towel. 

"I've  put  them  in  the  order  I  shall  want  them,"  he 
whispered,  "  and  don't  be  in  a  hurry— I  shall  want  time. 
Now  I'm  going  to  mesmerise  him.  You'll  see  he  will  pass 
into  a  deep  sleep  and  feel  no  pain — none  at  all." 

It  was  almost  as  if  he  were  assuring  himself  that  it 
would  be  so.  An  atmosphere  of  quiet  confidence  seemed 
to  emanate  from  him. 

Marripn  found  herself  watching  his  passes  with  abso- 


MARMADUKE  237 

lute  faith,  listening  to  the  quiet  monotonous  voice  with 
absolute  belief. 

"  Now  you  are  really  feeling  better — you  are  inclined 
to  sleep — if  you  close  your  eyes  you  will  go  to  sleep." 

On  and  on  went  the  voice  insistently.  The  breathing 
grew  slower,  less  convulsive;  the  eyelids  closed,  and  all 
the  time  the  doctor's  face  was  as  the  face  of  the  Angel  of 
Death — kind,  but  relentless. 

"Now  we  can  begin,"  he  said  at  last,  resuming  his 
quick  decision.  "  You  won't  faint,  will  you  ?"  he  added 
doubtfully,  with  a  glance  at  Marrion's  pale  cheek. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  replied;  "but  that  seemed  to 
hurt  here."     She  swept  her  hand  across  her  forehead. 

He  scanned  her  narrowly. 

"  Umph  !"  he  said,  half  to  himself.  "You'll  make  an 
excellent  aide,  I  expect.     So  now  to  business." 

It  was  an  awful  operation.  One  impossible  while 
consciousness  remained;  but  possible  enough  with  the 
absolute  stillness  and  lack  of  hurry  that  unconsciousness 
brings. 

And  so  far  it  was  successful. 

"  He  will  sleep  for  some  hours  yet,"  said  Dr.  Forsyth, 
as  he  sorted  his  implements.  "You  needn't  stay  with 
him  all  the  time.  Make  yourself  useful  elsewhere,  but 
look  in  and  bring  me  word  when  he  wakes." 

There  was  not  one  word  of  thanks ;  only  as  he  left  the 
tent  he  paused  to  say — 

"  The  lad  was  a  great  favourite  of  the  colonel's.  I'm 
glad  we  saved  him." 

All  that  day  Marrion  lived  in  a  dream  of  death;  but 
those  words  went  with  her.  Yes,  she  was  glad  she  had 
helped  to  save  the  lad,  but  how  much  had  she  helped  ? 


288  MARMADUKE 

Three  full  days  passed  before  she  could  get  an  answer 
to  that  question.  Days  of  grim  determination  to  keep 
her  head — not  to  give  way  as  some,  even  of  the  men, 
gave  way.  It  was  like  living  in  a  shambles.  She 
thought,  amazed  at  the  poverty  of  her  own  imagination, 
on  the  dread  with  which  she  had  first  viewed  the  heights 
of  Alma.  But  this — this  was  inconceivable,  unutterably 
beastly !  Vaguely  she  felt  glad  that  Duke  had  been 
spared  it,  and  with  the  thought  of  the  singing  bird  that 
had  sung  its  little  heart  out  in  joy  as  he  lay  dying,  the 
first  tears  she  had  shed  for  him  came  to  her  eyes.  And 
she  worked  on  with  a  lighter  heart,  until  the  first  press 
and  rush  was  over,  till  the  dead  had  been  buried,  the 
less  severe  cases  shipped  off,  and  tents  found  for  the 
others. 

Then  Dr.  Forsyth  sent  for  her.  She  found  him  in  his 
tent.  The  lad  whom  they  had  saved  had  been  removed 
to  a  larger  one  and  was  doing  well.  Though  the  flap 
was  open,  the  tent  was  shadowy  and  the  doctor's  eyes 
looked  curiously  light  as  he  sat  on  the  bed  and  motioned 
her  to  a  seat  beside  him. 

"You  have  done  very  well,  Mrs.  Marsden,"  he  said 
shortly,  "  and  I  think  you  will  do  better.  Now  I  am 
going  to  teach  you  some  of  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  and 
in  the  next  action  you  will  be  able  to  work  on  your  own. 
Only  don't  talk  about  it.  I  believe  all  the  doctors  and 
most  of  the  men  would  rather  die  than  be  mesmerised ; 
but  then  they  never  saw  Esdaile's  hospital.     I  have." 

"But  perhaps  I  shan't  be  able,"  began  Marrion. 

"  Yes,  you  will,"  he  interrupted  steadily,  "  and  to  begin 
with  I  am  going  to  call  you  by  your  right  name,  please, 
Marrion  Paul." 


MARMADUKE  239 


She  flushed. 
"  Did  Andrew- 


"  Nothing  of  the  sort.  My  dear  woman,  I'm  an  Aber- 
deenshire man.  Long  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  lad,  I 
was  at  Drummuir  and  I  saw  your  father — possibly  you 
also.  No  ? — His  was  a  face  and  figure  you  can't  easily 
forget.  And  I  know  the  story.  I  heard  Andrew,  the 
Drummuir's  henchman,  call  you  Marrion;  your  extra- 
ordinary likeness  to  your  father  supplied  the  cues.  And 
I  was  right,  you  see."  His  face  was  all  smiles  at  his  own 
perspicacity.  "Now,  my  mother  was  a  Pole  and  I  be- 
lieve your  father  was  one.  And  that  admixture  seems 
favourable  to  a  certain  force  of  character.  YouVe  always 
managed  people — at  least,  I  guess  so — and  it  is  just  that 
trick  of  suggestion  that  you  require  for  management — 
at  least,  so  I  think — that  I  want.  Anyhow,  we  will  try. 
For  the  present  the  tyranny  is  overpast.  We  have 
wormed  our  way  through  sans  everything ;  but  the  next 
action  will  be  as  bad,  perhaps  worse.  I  think  the  letters 
we  have  written  home  about  the  scandalous  state  of  affairs 
may  have  had  some  effect — God  knows  !  We  British 
sleep  through  a  lot  of  bad  dreams,  but  help  can't  be  here 
in  time.  And  the  stores  they  are  landing  !  My  God,  if 
you  could  see  them  !  Rotten  biscuits,  putrid  meat,  drugs 
unusable !  How  the  devils  in  hell  will  kow-tow  to  the 
contractors  when  they  get  them  as  past-masters  of 
damnation.  "Anyhow,  in  the  immediate  future  we 
have  to  depend  on  ourselves,  and  if  I  can  depend  on 

you "  he  looked  at  her  and  once  more  stretched 

out  those  thin  capable  hands  of  his.  "Come,  is  it  a 
bargain  ?" 

She  could  not  but  say  "Yes,"  and  from  that  day  he 


240  MARMADUKE 

treated  her  as  a  professor  might  treat  his  pupil — kindly, 
but  autocratically. 

"You  are  the  only  person  who  ever  made  me  obey 
orders,"  she  said,  half-resentfully  one  afternoon  when  he 
had  driven  her  to  rest  in  his  tent. 

"  Better  for  you  if  it  had  happened  before,"  he  replied 
curtly.  "  You  strike  me  as  a  woman  who  has  managed 
too  much.  Do  you  know  how  old  I  am  ?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

Seated  as  he  was  just  outside  the  hut  so  that  he  could 

talk  to  her  within,  he  looked  strangely  young,  but  the 

grey  hair  and  bronzed  wrinkles  about  his  clean  shaven 

face  made  her  venture  rather  against  her  own  judgment — 

"  Fifty." 

"  Sixty-five,"  he  replied. 
"  You  don't  look  forty-five,"  she  put  in. 
"No.  That  is  because  I  never  look  ahead.  I  take 
what  comes.  If  you  believe,  as  I  do,  in  a  Divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends,  it's  waste  of  time  to  hew.  I  learnt  that 
early  in  life.  You  haven't  learnt  it  yet.  Well,  now  I've 
got  to  go  and  cut  a  man's  leg  off." 

And  he  went,  leaving  her  wondering  if  he  was  right. 
All  her  life  had  been  spent  in  keeping  Duke  for  the  heir- 
ship of  Drummuir,  and  now  he  lay  in  his  solitary  grave 
at  Varna.     The  pity  of  it  was  coming  home  to  her. 

So  after  a  few  days,  with  a  tent  provided  for  her,  she 
rode  in  a  baggage  waggon  towards  Sebastopol.  Cholera 
had  begun  again  badly.  The  fillip  which  the  idea  of 
campaigning  and  free  fighting  had  given  to  men  jaded 
by  hot  weather  and  the  discomforts  of  Varna  was  passing 
off.  As  they  neared  the  Russian  town  supplies  were  less 
easily  obtainable,  and  the  commissariat  was  conspicuous 


MARMADUKE  241 

by  its  inefficiency.  The  army,  meanwhile,  starting  on 
the  23rd,  had  found  itself  brought  up  seriously  at  the 
next  river.  The  enemy  had  established  a  work  at  the 
entrance  which  made  it  impossible  to  use  the  bay,  as 
had  been  hoped,  for  a  base.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  change  plans  and  act  promptly.  And  here,  merci- 
fully, was  no  delay,  no  mistakes.  Forsaking  the  sea- 
coast  the  whole  force  plunged  boldly  into  the  mountains, 
marching  by  compass,  without  road,  without  guides. 
Much  of  the  way  lay  through  dense  forest — there  was  no 
water ;  but,  heartened  up  by  a  small  brush  with  a  wander- 
ing division  of  the  enemy,  the  men  struggled  on  cheerful 
as  ever,  up  hill,  down  dale,  during  a  long  and  toilsome 
march  from  dawn  till  after  nightfall  on  the  25th.  But 
then  came  solace.  On  the  sea-coast  below  them — secure, 
unprepared — lay  the  town  and  harbour  of  Balaklava, 
seven  miles  to  the  east  of  Sebastopol.  They  had  cir- 
cumvented the  enemy,  they  had  taken  him  round  the 
corner !  But  there  must  be  no  cheering.  Quiet  as  mice 
they  lay  among  the  barberry  scrub,  waiting  for  the  dawn 
of  the  26th.  And  then  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
save  to  walk  down  and  take  possession — take  posses- 
sion of  both  sea  and  land,  for,  punctual  to  the  moment, 
her  Majesty's  ship  Agamemnon  sailed  into  the  harbour, 
decks  clear,  guns  ready  for  action — a  stroke  of  luck  due 
to  young  Maxse  who,  arriving  at  the  Commander-in- 
Chiefs  with  despatches  the  evening  before,  volunteered 
to  brave  the  forest  again  by  night  and  tell  his  Admiral 
to  come  round  as  sharp  as  he  could. 

So  when  the  hospital  tents  and  such  medical  stores 
as  there  were  arrived  from  Kalamita  Beach  they  found 
the  troops  elated  and  pleased  with  their  new  quarters. 

16 


242  MARMADUKE 

As  is  generally  the  way  after  a  move,  cholera  abated, 
almost  disappeared,  and  for  a  time  the  weather  was 
good. 

Trench  work  began  at  once,  yet  progressed  but  slowly. 
Whether,  as  some  say,  from  lack  of  implements  or  from 
slackness  in  command,  the  French  had  placed  thirty-three 
siege  guns  before  the  English  had  finished  their  fifteenth ; 
and  the  doctor,  coming  in  from  a  long  round,  would 
shake  his  head  and  say  that  the  business  would  be  a 
longer  one  than  people  thought. 

And  what  was  to  be  done  with  winter  coming  on — 
blankets  wearing  out,  a  shortage  of  drugs,  and  the  very 
ambulance-waggons  still  lying  forgotten  on  Kalamita 
Beach  ? 

He  used  to  watch  the  ships  sailing  in  so  gaily  to  the 
harbour  and  say  calmly,  "I  wonder  what  filth,  what 
fraud,  they  bring  ?"    . 

Still,  even  he  grunted  satisfaction  over  the  news 
that  Britain  was  beginning  to  discover  that  all  was  not 
well  with  the  Crimean  expedition — that  there  was  talk  of 
sending  out  nurses  and  more  doctors.  So  for  nigh 
three  weeks  comparative  peace  reigned.  There  were  no 
shambles,  and  Marrion  had  time  to  pick  up  many 
wrinkles  of  nursing  from  her  patron ;  he  taught  her  how 
to  bring  sleep  for  one  thing,  the  first  duty  of  those  who 
tend  the  sick.  She  had  time  also  for  regret.  Nothing 
had  been  heard  of  Andrew  Fraser,  though  Captain 
Grant's  body  had  been  duly  found.  It  seemed  to  her  as 
if  the  last  link  with  the  old  life  had  gone,  and  one  day  in 
sudden  confidence  she  said  as  much  to  the  doctor.  Again 
he  shook  his  head. 

"My  dear  good  woman,"  he  remarked,  "no  one  ever 


MARMADUKE  243 

gets  away  from  their  past.  It  is  what  the  Easterns 
call  'karma'  You  have  to  dree  your  weird  for  it 
always." 

"  Even  if  it  is  not  bad  ?"  asked  Marrion,  feeling  hurt 
at  the  very  idea  that  a  life  in  which  she  was  conscious  of 
no  self-seeking  should  be  a  curse  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  half-closing  his  strange 
eyes,  "you  may  have  done  something  shocking.  It  is 
quite  possible." 

She  wondered,  afterwards,  what  had  induced  her  to 
tell  him  what  she  had  done ;  but  these  strange  fits  of  con- 
fidence are  one  of  the  psychological  puzzles  of  humanity. 
Tell  him  she  did,  however,  while  he  sat  looking  out  over 
the  sea  with  his  veiled  eyes,  for  they  were  sitting  on  the 
heights  and  the  whole  panorama  of  Sebastopol,  the 
Allied  Fleets,  and  the  investing  forces  lay  before  them. 

"What  would  you  have  done  if  Colonel  Muir  had 
lived  ?"  he  asked  briefly  when  she  had  finished. 

She  blushed  a  little. 

"  I  have  often  wondered,"  she  began. 

"  People  who  play  Providence  ought  not  to  wonder. 
Well,  I  am  glad  he  died  happy.  That,  at  any  rate,  is  to 
your  credit."     So  he  rose  and  left  her. 

The  days  passed  rapidly,  full  to  the  brim  of  work,  and 
every  day  brought  her  more  and  more  admiration  for 
the  courage  and  cheeriness  of  the  men,  more  and  more 
resentment  at  the  ghastly  way  in  which  they  were  treated 
by  the  authorities  at  home.  Boots  had  already  given 
out,  none  were  available  in  store,  and  in  a  whole  officers' 
mess  only  one  subaltern  had  a  holeless  pair.  And  he 
was  the  son  of  a  widow  who  had  half-ruined  herself  by 
sending  her  darling  the  two  separate  boots  of  a  pair  by 


244  MARMADUKE 

letter  post.  She  would  have  held  it  worth  more,  could 
she  have  seen  his  face  of  pride  among  his  comrades. 

On  the  night  of  the  18th  of  October  a  diversion  arose 
which,  when  it  was  over,  caused  much  amusement. 

A  party  of  sappers  and  miners,  losing  their  way,  fell 
into  a  Russian  picket,  which,  possessed  by  the  idea  of  a 
general  assault,  incontinently  skedaddled  into  the  town 
and  raised  the  alarm,  thereby  causing  much  beating  of 
drums  and  bugle  calls.  The  Allied  armies,  alarmed  in 
their  turn,  instantly  stood  to  arms,  while  gun  after  gun 
boomed  from  the  city  forts,  echoing  and  re-echoing 
among  the  reverberating  rocks.  After  an  hour  or  two, 
however,  the  gunners  seemed  to  recognise  that  they  were 
only,  so  to  speak,  shooting  at  their  own  shadows  or 
echoes,  and  gradually  peace  reigned,  broken  by  roars  of 
laughter  round  many  a  camp  fire. 

But  on  the  25th  something  serious  happened  which 
brought  the  shambles  close  once  more.  To  the  Turkish 
contingent  had  been  assigned  the  redoubts  which  pro- 
tected the  heights  behind  the  entrenchments.  On  the 
morning  of  the  25th  the  Russians,  numbering  some 
twenty  thousand  troops,  after  following  the  same  route 
by  which  the  Allies  had  reached  Balaklava,  appeared 
unexpectedly  before  these  redoubts.  The  Turks  aban- 
doned them  without  striking  a  blow  and  fled  down 
the  valley  to  the  plain  in  sheer  panic.  Nor  did  a 
volley  from  the  93rd  Highlanders,  hastily  formed  up, 
stop  them.  For  a  short  while  confusion  and  courage 
were  conspicuous.  The  British,  taken  unawares,  fought 
like  heroes.  Finally  there  followed  the  famous  Light 
Cavalry  Charge  of  which  the  French  general,  watching 
it,  said  "C'est  magnifique)  mats  ce  riest  pas  la  guerre? 


M  ARM  A  DUKE  245 

By  whose  fault  the  order  was  given  for  a  deed  which  will 
stir  the  blood  at  every  English  heart  even  at  the  day  of 
doom,  Heaven  only  knows.  The  man  who  brought  it 
was  the  first  to  fall.  Briefly  told — it  needs  no  grand 
words — it  amounted  to  this.  Six  hundred  men  and 
horses  charged  uselessly,  desperately,  defiantly,  because 
they  were  told  to  do  so,  down  an  open  valley  exposed  to 
a  cross  fire  from  guns  posted  on  either  side  of  them,  and 
to  a  frontal  fire  from  the  evacuated  and  abandoned  forts. 
The  charge  commenced  at  ii.io.  It  was  barely  11.35 
when  a  hundred  and  sixty  men,  many  of  them  wounded, 
rode  back,  having  done  what  they  were  told  to  do.  The 
rest  lay  on  the  field. 

But  it  was  a  victory  for  all  that,  and  when  night  came, 
bringing  an  hour  or  two  of  rest  to  Marrion,  she  spent  it 
in  going  round  with  a  revolver  she  borrowed  from  Dr. 
Forsyth  and  putting  wounded  horses  out  of  their  pain. 

"Don't  forget  to  give  them  their  password,"  he  said, 
as  he  gave  the  weapon  to  her. 

She  looked  at  him  uncomprehending. 

"I  forgot  you  hadn't  lived  in  the  East,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  smile.  "  Say  '  In  the  name  of  the  Most  Merciful 
God '  before  you  shoot." 

Once  again  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  She  was 
learning  much  of  this  strange  man  who  looked  on  death 
so  lightly,  yet  spent  himself  in  striving  to  evade  it. 

It  was  a  busy  time  again  after  Balaklava;  she  had 
barely  time  to  think,  scarcely  time  to  rest.  Yet  ever  and 
always,  when  her  mind  travelled  beyond  the  immediate 
present,  those  words  with  which  Dr.  Forsyth  had  replied 
to  her  story  came  back  to  remembrance — 

"  People  who  play  Providence  ought  not  to  wonder." 


246  MARMADUKE 

Was  he  right,  she  wondered,  and  then  was  ashamed 
of  her  own  wondering. 

"  You  will  have  to  rest  a  little  more,"  said  the  doctor 
to  her  one  day  when  she  had  been  helping  him.  "  You 
were  quite  wobbly  just  now.  You  will  be  of  no  use,  you 
know,  unless  you  pull  yourself  together."  And  he 
narrowed  his  eyes  perplexedly.  "  You  are  not  living  in 
the  present  somehow — you're  reaching  out  to  the  future. 
Why?" 

She  laughed. 

"  Why  should  I — what  can  the  future  hold  for  me ! 
I  will  take  a  blue  pill." 

He  grunted  dissatisfaction,  but  was  too  busy  to  say 
more.  Yet  what  he  said  was  true.  She  began  to  catch 
herself  wondering,  wondering.  The  present  was  all- 
engrossing,  of  course ;  how  could  it  be  anything  else  when 
she  could  do  what  she  could  do  for  the  poor  lads  ? — his 
poor  lads,  who  were  so  brave,  so  cheery.  And  then  her 
mind  would  become  vagrant,  and  she  would  wake  up 
from  dreams  with  a  start. 

It  was  one  day  just  before  Inkerman,  the  ioth  of 
November,  that  Dr.  Forsyth  came  to  her  and  said  : 

"  I  want  you.     It's  over  at  the  cavalry  hospital." 

His  eyes  seemed  to  her  stranger  than  ever,  and  when 
she  came  out  of  her  tent  to  join  him  he  glanced  at  her, 
then  said  brusquely : 

"You've  forgotten  to  put  on  that  diamond  brooch  of 
yours — the  P.P.  one.  Don't  you  remember  when  the  sun 
glints  on  it,  it's  useful  ?" 

It  was  true.  Often  and  often  the  eyes  that  had  been 
asked  to  fix  their  gaze  on  it  had  become  full  of  dreams, 
and  then  slept. 

"  Stupid  of  me,"  she  replied  lightly.     "  I'll  put  it  on  !" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  Cavalry  Hospital  was  a  little  way  out  of  the  town, 
a  quaint  old  place  with  oleanders  and  orange  trees  set 
in  tubs  outside  its  white  verandahs.  As  they  drove 
thither  Dr.  Forsyth  told  her  something  of  the  case  in 
which  he  wanted  her  help.  It  was  a  prisoner,  presum- 
ably an  officer,  but  he  refused  name  or  rank.  He  had 
been  found  two  days  after  the  battle,  lying,  with  one  leg 
smashed  to  bits,  under  his  dead  horse  in  a  little  ravine. 
How  he  had  lived  was  a  marvel,  for  he  was  quite  an  old 
man ;  but,  not  only  had  he  done  so,  he  had  also  retained 
consciousness,  and  had  addressed  those  who  found  him 
in  perfect  English,  congratulating  them  courteously  on 
their  marvellous  exploit,  and  saying  he  was  proud  to 
have  crossed  swords  with  them. 

A  game  old  fellow,  worthy  of  his  hospital  nickname 
"  The  General."  He  had  actually  begged,  before  they 
moved  him,  that  someone  would  be  good  enough  to 
search  in  the  holster  of  the  dead  horse  beside  him  for  a 
gold  snuffbox  which  he  had  been  unable  to  reach,  and  the 
lack  of  which  had,  he  asserted,  been  his  greatest  dis- 
comfort. 

"  He  has  been  snuffing  away  ever  since,"  added  the 
doctor,  "  so  perhaps  he  was  right,  for  his  leg  was  almost 
too  crushed  to  belong  to  him.  We  took  it  off  at  once; 
but  now  gangrene  is  setting  in  and  if  he  is  to  be  saved 
we  must  have  it  off  higher  up.     And  the  others  won't 

247 


248  MARMADUKE 

risk  it.  He  is  old — heart  weak — and  they  say  won't 
stand  chloroform.  I  am  going  to  try.  I've  told  him 
and  he  will  take  the  risk.  A  good  old  chap,  worth 
saving.  I  don't  believe  he  is  a  Russian.  I  think  he  is  a 
Pole,  and  blood  is  thicker  than  water." 

Marrion's  first  look  at  the  patient  as  he  lay  propped 
up  by  pillows  in  the  small  room  whither  he  had  been 
carried  made  her  agree  with  the  doctor. 

It  was  a  fine  old  face,  curiously  reminiscent  of  someone 
she  had  seen  somewhere,  with  its  hint  of  ruddiness 
beneath  the  grey  of  the  hair  and  its  bold  bright  daring 
look.  And  he  was  very  tall;  his  long  length  almost 
outstretched  the  trestle  bed. 

"Good  morning,  doctor!"  he  said,  with  a  courteous 
salute  which  included  Marrion,  and  with  a  perfect 
English  accent.  "You  have  brought  your  nurse,  I  see. 
Are  we  to  begin  at  once  ?" 

There  was  no  anxiety  in  his  voice ;  only  gentle  raillery. 

"Not  quite  yet,  General,"  replied  Dr.  Forsyth.  "I 
want  you  to  have  a  rest  and  sleep  first.  You  are  looking 
a  bit  tired ;  and  your  pulse  " — he  stopped  to  feel  it — "  is 
tired,  too.  So  I've  brought  Nurse  Paul  to  sit  with  you. 
She  is  a  curiously  soporific  person.  I  shall  be  back 
before  very  long,"  he  added,  more  to  her  than  to  the 
patient. 

Left  alone,  Marrion  went  up  to  the  bed,  smoothed  the 
rough  pillows,  straightened  the  coarse  blanket,  which 
was  all  the  bedding  Balaklava  could  produce,  and  said 
quietly — 

"  Now,  if  you  will  close  your  eyes  I  believe  you  would 
sleep." 

But  those  sea-blue  eyes — whose  did  they  resemble?- - 


MARMADUKE  249 

someone  she  had  seen  somewhere — remained  wide,  and 
watched  her  narrowly  as  she  returned  to  seat  herself  in 
the  only  chair.  It  was  set  full  in  the  sunlight,  which 
showed  her  tall,  slender,  yet  strong  in  her  dark  stuff 
dress,  a  white  handkerchief  almost  hiding  her  bright  hair 
and  pinned  to  place  by  the  little  brilliant  brooch  beneath 
her  chin.  Truly  those  keen  eyes  were  over-watchful,  and 
she  was  about  again  to  suggest  sleep  when  his  voice,  full 
of  insistent  command,  startled  her. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  brooch  ?" 

She  replied  at  once  with  the  truth. 

"  It  belonged  to  my  father." 

"  Indeed — who  was  he  ?" 

"He  was  a  valet;  but  if  you  would  only  close  your 
eyes  I  think  you  would  go  to  sleep." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?     I  don't." 

His  eyes  showed  more  awake  than  ever;  there  was  a 
hint  of  a  smile  on  the  handsome  old  face. 

Still  there  was  silence  for  full  five  minutes,  and  Marrion 
was  just  about  to  make  further  suggestion  of  sleep  when 
once  more  the  voice  rose — 

"  Will  you  please  give  me  my  snuff-box  ? — it  is  under 
my  pillow  somewhere." 

She  drew  it  out.  A  plain  gold  box  with — her  startled 
eyes  caught  the  old  face — 

"  Yes  !"  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  a  jeer  in  it.  " '  P.P./ 
as  you  see.  That  is  my  name.  So  you  are  Marrion  Sim's 
child — and  I  suppose  mine.  Queer,  isn't  it,  how  these 
old  stories  crop  up  when  one  had  almost  forgotten 
them  ?"  He  scanned  her  face  narrowly.  "  Now  you  are 
angry.  Why  should  you  be?  Your  mother  was  my 
wife,  I  suppose.     At  least,  I  hadn't  any  other  then.     I 


250  MARMADUKE 

have  sons  now  " — his  voice  softened  as  he  spoke — "  yes, 
sons  to  come  after  me  when  I  am  gone,  as  I  shall  be  soon, 
for  that  gay  doctor  of  yours  can't  conquer  Fate ;  and  it  is 
Fate  that  has  brought  me  here  !" 

He  lay  looking  at  her  with  a  certain  kindly  curiosity, 
while  she,  startled  out  of  herself,  tried  to  realise  that  this 
was  her  father — the  father  she  had  condemned  and 
despised  all  her  life. 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  he  saw  into  her  thoughts,  for 
his  next  words  touched  them. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  cruel  to  leave  her  as  I  did ;  but  I  had 
no  choice.  If  you  have  anything  belonging  to  us  in  you, 
you'll  understand  what  the  call  of  the  master  means. 
And  young  Muir  was  never  my  master.     He  befriended 

me,  helped  me  to  escape   Siberia;   but  the  other 

There's  a  perfect  passion  of  loyalty  in  our  family  which 
you  may  or  may  not  understand."  He  paused  and  a 
shiver  of  assent  ran  through  Marrion. 

"  I — I  think  I  do  understand,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Yes,  from  the  very  beginning,  as  a  small  child,  this 
passion  of  protection,  of  loyalty,  had  been  hers.  Strange 
legacy  from  an  unknown  father !     He  smiled  content. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it.  You're  not  a  bit  like  your  mother — 
you're  like  me,  and  your  brothers — half-brothers,  I  mean. 
So  I  had  to  go.  It  was  just  after  the  break  up  of  Europe 
and  Napoleon,  when  half  the  political  refugees  came  to 
their  own  again — and  he  did  amongst  others.  So  I  had 
to  go."  Again  he  paused,  and  for  the  first  time  Marrion 
felt  the  touch  of  kinship  between  them.  He  had  to  go ; 
that  was  just  it !  She  had  had  to  be  loyal  to  Duke. 
"You  are  not  in  the  least  like  your  mother,"  he  said 
again  suddenly,  "  you  are  like  us."     Yet  again  he  paused. 


MARMADUKE  251 

"Have  you  anything  you  can  give  me  to  drink?"  he 
asked.  "I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  and  I  feel — 
limp" 

She  gave  him  a  restorative  and  he  brisked  up.  Time 
was  passing,  but  she  had  learnt  many  things  during  the 
last  month  and  knew  that  physical  rest  would  be  impos- 
sible until  the  mental  rest  was  assured. 

"Don't  talk  too  much,"  she  said.  "I  think  I  shall 
understand — what  is  it  ?" 

"This  box,"  he  said.  "It  holds — my  credentials. 
There  is  a  false  top — see,  you  press  this  spring — so." 

As  he  spoke  the  lid  appeared  to  part  in  two,  disclosing 
a  folded  piece  of  paper. 

"  Don't  read  it  now — but  it  will  tell  you  everything. 
I  was  on  secret  service  and  it  was  of  importance  no  one 
should  know.  It  is  of  importance  still.  If  I  hadn't  met 
you  I  should  have  said  nothing.  But  now — you'll  do  me 
this  good  turn,  I  expect — for,  after  all,  I  am  your  father." 

A  cynical  smile  curved  his  lips,  his  blue  eyes  met  hers 
in  a  challenge. 

Almost  staggered  by  the  strangeness  of  what  was 
happening,  Marrion  was  yet  aware  of  something  deep 
down  in  her  which  gave  instant  response  to  this  claim 
upon  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly,  "I  will  do  what  you  wish — 
father." 

"  I  am  obliged — daughter,"  he  replied  lightly.  "  Of 
course  it  is  for  your  eye  alone.  And  now  for  heaven's 
sake  give  me  some  more  of  that  drink.  I  feel  quite 
exhausted."  He  lay  back  smiling  at  her.  "It  is  better 
here,"  he  remarked,  "than  in  the  north  of  Scotland." 
Then  after  a  pause,  "  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  have 


252  MARMADUKE 

married  your  mother ;  but  she  was  charming  and  it  was 
very  dull."  After  that  he  closed  his  eyes  and  slept.  The 
doctor,  coming  in  after  an  hour,  found  him  still  sleeping, 
while  Marrion  sat  beside  the  bed  holding  the  gold  snuff- 
box in  her  hand. 

He  bent  over  the  slumbering  face. 

"I  don't  think  there  will  be  any  operation,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  The  others  were  right.  His  mind  has  ceased 
to  insist  upon  his  body  surviving  and  so  there  is  rest. 
It  is  well." 

Marrion  looked  up  into  his  wise  face. 

"  How  did  you  guess  ?"  she  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  was  no  guess,"  he  replied;  "you  remember  I 
had  seen  your  father.  Then  your  extraordinary  likeness. 
When  by  chance  I  saw  the  famous  snuff-box  yesterday  it 
became  a  certainty.  For  a  day  I  decided  to  say  nothing. 
Then  I  saw  the  old  chap  was  fighting  death — putting  a 
strain  on  himself  about  something,  and  I  thought  you 
had  better  have  your  innings." 

He  did  not  ask  any  questions  and  she  was  grateful. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  stay,"  he  added  gently. 
"  I  don't  think  he  will  wake  again." 

And  he  did  not.  As  the  sunlight  faded  from  the  room 
the  old  man's  breathing  became  slower  and  ceased. 

Marrion  stood  looking  down  on  him  for  a  moment 
before  she  called  for  aid.  All  the  time  she  had  been 
watching  she  had  been  thinking,  thinking ;  but  she  had 
arrived  at  nothing.  Only  deep  down  in  her  was  a  glad 
feeling  of  inheritance — a  consciousness  that  the  dead 
man  had  given  her  something,  something  that  she  held 
in  trust. 


MARMADUKE  253 

Was  it  only  the  gold  snuff-box,  she  wondered  vaguely, 
as,  back  in  her  own  tent,  she  touched  the  spring. 

"  The  bearer  of  this,  Prince  Paul  Pauloffski "    She 

sat  staring  at  the  words. 

Prince  Paul  Pauloffski  was  her  father.  Then  she  was 
gentle  born.     Then  she  need  not — 

With  a  rush  all  the  things  she  need  not  have 
done  crushed  in  on  her.  She  buried  her  face  in 
the  pillow  as  she  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed  and 
muttered — 

"  People  who  play  Providence  !" 

Of  a  truth  the  wise  man  with  the  strange  eyes  was 
right.  Your  past  was  karma.  You  could  not  escape 
from  it. 

After  a  time  she  sat  up  and  began  to  decipher  the  rest. 
It  was  in  French,  the  lingua  franca  of  Eastern  diplomacy. 
Noble-born,  poor,  devoted,  daring.  That  was  the  essence 
of  the  credentials.  The  other  paper  simply  gave  the 
address  of  the  ancestral  home  and  that  of  two  sons  in 
the  army.  A  memorandum  as  to  keys  and  papers  filled 
up  the  back  of  the  latter.  She  replaced  them,  shut  down 
the  spring  again,  then,  remembering  she  could  show  no 
right  to  the  snuff-box  for  which  inquiry  was  sure  to  be 
made,  took  them  out  again.  Nothing,  somehow,  seemed 
to  matter  now.  She  had  made  her  mistake,  she  must 
suffer. 

"  You  have  all  you  want  ?"  asked  Doctor  Forsyth,  as 
she  handed  him  the  box,  and  she  flushed  scarlet.  Some- 
times he  seemed  to  her  too  clever — he  found  out  every- 
thing, everything  ! 

"  Thank  you,"  she  replied  frigidly. 

"  Because — well,  if  you  would  like  to  possess  it,  I  could 


254  MARMADUKE 

buy  it  in  for  you  at  the  auction.  The  poor  old  general 
is — is  unidentified,  remember." 

"Yes,  he  is  unidentified,"  she  assented,  remembering 
her  father's  wishes,  "  but  I  should  like  to  have  it  all  the 
same." 

He  brought  it  to  her  a  day  or  two  after. 

"  That's  your  fee,"  he  said  lightly,  "  you've  earned  it 
well." 

And  he  would  take  no  refusal;  so  she  replaced  the 
papers  in  the  secret  compartment  and  put  the  box  away 
in  her  satchel  against — what?  That  future  which  was 
now  always  filling  her  mind.  The  present  seemed  hardly 
to  touch  her  at  all.  The  doctor  looked  at  her  critically 
more  than  once,  but  he  said  nothing. 

Then  came  Inkerman.  It  was  on  the  5th  of  Novem- 
ber— almost  three  months,  Marrion  told  herself,  since  that 
wonderful  day  when  Duke's  love  had  come  to  her  amid 
flame  and  fire. 

It  had  been  a  disturbed  night.  A  noise  as  of  tumbrils 
had  been  heard  about  the  city.  Was  it  possible  that  the 
•enemy  was  taking  advantage  of  the  dense  night  fog  to 
run  in  commissariat  or  even  ammunition?  Nothing 
could  be  done,  however,  save  wait.  So  as  the  laggard  day 
broke,  the  advanced  pickets  looked  keenly  ahead.  To 
no  purpose.  An  impenetrable  wall  of  grey  mist  shut  out 
all  beyond  a  yard  or  two.  Their  very  comrades  looked 
like  shadows  of  men. 

"London  partickler,"  remarked  one  sentry,  stamping 
his  feet  to  keep  out  the  chill,  for  it  had  been  raining  all 
night. 

"Not  yeller  enough,  save  down  Chelsea  way.  My 
Gawd  !     I  wish  I  was  ther,"  replied  the  next. 


MARMADUKE  255 

"  I  wish  I  wurr  anywhere  but  eight  thousand  strong  on 
the  heights  of  Inkerman,"  put  in  an  Irishman.  "  Begorra, 
IVe  bin  dhrier  in  a  bog  !" 

"An*  IVe  been  wetter  in  the  watter  after  the  trooties 
on  Don  side,"  evened  an  Aberdeenshire  man  sturdily. 
"  Mush  me,  it's  weary  wark  !" 

"  An'  thim  ringing  joy-bells  for  to  spite  us  !"  joked  the 
Irishman,  as  on  the  cold  night  air  a  carillon  from  every 
church  in  the  city  rang  out,  echoing  amongst  the  little 
scrub  and  wood-set  ravines  that  went  to  make  up  the 
valley  of  Inkerman.  "Will  it  be  a  wedding  likely? 
Begorra,  Fd  loose  off  me  rifle  as  a  salute  if  the  powdther 
was  dry  I* 

So  through  the  early  dawn  the  pickets,  outwearied, 
wet  through,  beguiled  the  time.  And  though  the  dawn 
brought  light,  the  mist  lay  thicker  than  ever.  Thick 
and  grey  the  colour  of  a  Russian's  coat. 

"Dods,  mon!"  cried  the  Aberdeenshire  man  sud- 
denly, "  what's  yon  ?" 

Yon  was  indeed  a  Russian  coat,  not  one  but  many, 
emerging  out  of  the  fog  not  ten  yards  away. 

A  sharp  volley  of  musketry  followed  on  the  instant. 
The  pickets  may  have  been  sodden,  but  they  were  no 
cowards.  They  fought  desperately,  retreating  inch  by 
inch,  the  alarm  of  their  rifles  telling  that  sixty  thousand 
Russians  were  on  them  surging  through  the  newly 
awakened  camp  of  eight  thousand.  It  was  everyone  to 
the  rescue.  Not  one  regiment  or  two,  but  every  avail- 
able man.  Then  followed  eight  long  hours  of  such 
desperate  fighting  as,  till  then,  had  never  been  seen.  It 
was  not  a  battle — it  was  a  hundred  battles  in  one;  for 
every  little  ravine  had  its  opposing  armies,  cut  off  from 


256  MARMADUKE 

the  rest  by  the  enveloping  mist.  Again  and  again  the 
grey  line  would  advance  a  yard  or  two,  covered  by  its 
superior  fire;  again  and  again  a  ringing  British  cheer 
and  the  point  of  the  bayonet  would  drive  it  back  a  yard 
or  two.  Sometimes  the  fight  became  a  melee  in  which 
the  British  officers,  dealing  havoc  with  their  revolvers  or 
swords,  cut  their  way  through  the  dense  masses  of  the 
enemy.  No  generalship  was  possible,  each  man  fought 
for  himself,  his  Queen,  his  country,  and  wrote  on  the 
page  of  history  a  record  of  undying  pluck  and  almost 
incredible  personal  courage.  But  the  battle  of  Inkerman 
is,  truly,  beyond  description.  It  was  a  day  of  countless 
deeds  of  daring,  of  despairing  rallies  and  desperate 
assaults  in  the  glens,  the  brushwood  glades,  the  torrent 
beds  of  the  valley  of  the  Tchernaya  river.  None  knew 
how  the  balance  swayed  and  shifted.  But  a  few  were 
aware  of  the  aid  given  in  the  nick  of  time  by  the  six 
thousand  French  troops  who  arrived  at  the  double. 
None  knew  whose  was  the  victory  till  from  the  Russian 
ranks  came  the  bugles  of  retreat.  And  then,  as  the  mist 
lifted,  the  whole  hillside  showed  strewn  with  corpses. 
But  the  eight  thousand  had  kept  at  bay  the  sixty  thou- 
sand. Round  Sandbag  battery,  from  which  the  Guards 
were  driven,  and  which  they  retook  four  separate  times, 
lay  fifteen  thousand  Russian  dead,  mute  evidence  of  the 
hand  to  hand,  back  to  back,  relentless  tenacity  with  which 
the  Household  Brigade  eventually  fought  their  way  out 
of  the  surrounding  masses  of  the  foe.  A  little  further, 
where  a  single  regiment  held  at  bay  over  nine  thousand 
Russians,  the  broken  stocks  of  the  rifles  showed  how, 
when  ammunition  was  gone,  the  fight  still  continued. 
"  Will  anyone  be  kind  enough  to  lift  me  off  my  horse  ?" 


MARMADUKE  257 

V 

said  old  General  Strangways,  when  riding  to  an  exposed 
position  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  see  something  of 
what  his  men  were  doing,  a  shell  literally  blew  off  his  leg. 
And  someone  lifted  him  down  doubtless ;  but  there  were 
eight  generals  to  be  seen  to,  and  close  on  a  hundred  and 
fifty  officers. 

As  the  official  despatches  read — 

"  It  does  not  do  to  dwell  upon  the  aspect  of  the  battle- 
field." True,  indeed,  when  out  of  the  eight  thousand 
some  two  thousand  six  hundred  lay  dead  or  wounded 
among  the  fourteen  thousand  Russians  for  whom  they 
had  accounted. 

Even  Doctor  Forsyth's  pale,  composed  face  grew  paler, 
less  composed,  and  Marrion  acting  as  his  aide  could 
scarcely  get  through  the  awful  days.  She  could  not  work 
as  she  wished  to  work,  but  neither  could  she  rest.  Her 
whole  being  seemed  to  go  out  in  one  vast  pity  for  the 
world,  a  vast  desire  to  protect,  to  recreate. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  hand  shook,"  she  said,  almost  pitifully 
to  the  doctor,  when  she  held  she  had  failed  to  give  him 
all  the  help  she  should  have  done  over  a  young  lad  who 
had  been  brought  in  badly  hurt.  "But  he  seemed  so 
very  young.  It  made  me  think  of  the  time  when  all  these 
poor  boys  were  babies  in  their  mothers'  arms,  warm, 
secure,  sheltered." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"  You  did  very  well,"  he  said.  "  Not  quite  so  well  as 
usual,  perhaps;  but  better  than  others.  For  all  that,  I 
am  going  to  send  you  for  a  rest — only  a  week  or  two," 
he  added  hastily,  seeing  her  face  set  in  denial.  "And 
it's  as  useful  as  anything  else.  You  know  there  are  quite 
a  lot  of  soldiers'  wives  down  in  the  town.     There  ought 

17 


258  MAUMADUKE 

not  to  be,  of  course,  but  there  are Why,  there  is  one, 

at  least,  in  the  camp !  And  one,  an  Irishwoman,  has 
just  died  with  her  third  baby— shock— husband  killed. 
And  there  is  no  one  to  see  to  them  and  others.  You'd 
better  go — you — you  like  children." 

To  tell  the  truth  Marrion  felt  a  strange  gladness  at  the 
thought  of  them,  and  the  very  idea  of  holding  the  new- 
born scrap  of  humanity  in  her  arms  was  enthralling. 

"  For  a  week,"  she  demurred.  "  You  see  I  haven't  been 
sleeping  well." 

So  down  by  the  sea  in  a  house  built  on  the  very  rocks 
of  the  harbour  she  went  back  to  woman's  normal  life  and 
rested  for  a  while. 

For  the  first  time  she  had  leisure  to  notice  the  beauties 
of  the  cliff -set  coast,  of  which  the  bay  was  a  mere  shallow 
curve.  The  vessels  lying  at  the  roads  bobbed  and 
swayed  when  the  wind  ruffled  the  water,  almost  as  if 
they  had  been  at  sea.  But  it  was  fine  to  see  them  there ; 
ships  of  the  line,  merchantmen,  gun-boats,  mail-steamers, 
all  coming  and  going.  When  the  two  elder  children  were 
asleep,  Marrion  would  wrap  the  infant  in  a  blanket  and 
go  and  sit  on  the  rocks  in  the  sunshine,  watching  the  boats 
go  backwards  and  forwards  to  the  shore,  and  think- 
ing of  the  far-off  Aberdeenshire  days  when  she  could  pull 
an  oar  with  any  man.  The  harbour  itself,  a  mere  inlet, 
was  crammed  with  vessels  of  all  descriptions ;  you  could 
scarcely  distinguish  one  from  the  other,  but  the  thirty 
outside  showed  bravely. 

"  They  say  the  anchorage  is  very  treacherous,"  re- 
marked Doctor  Forsyth,  when  he  came  to  see  how  she 
was  getting  on,  one  evening.  "  I  hear  that  a  captain  of 
one  of  the  transports  has  reported  it  dangerous ;  and  has 


MARMADUKE  259 

been  reprimanded  for  his  trouble.  He  may  have  a  chance 
of  proving  himself  right,  for  the  barometer  is  going  down 
steadily,  I'm  told ;  and  there  is  an  uncanny  feel  in  the 
air." 

That  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  But  the 
night  was  calm,  warm  for  the  time  of  the  year.  It  was  in 
the  small  hours  of  the  14th  that  someone  relieving  watch 
on  one  of  the  ships  looked  again  at  the  barometer. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "it  has  fallen  two  inches 
in  the  watch." 

Something  was  astir  and  the  something  came  with 
appalling  suddenness,  almost  before  the  light  spars  could 
be  shipped  and  things  made  taut.  And  then?  What 
was  it?  No  storm  ever  seen  equalled  this  boiling 
cauldron  of  a  sea,  this  furious  blast  of  bitter  wind  that 
lashed  the  waves  of  foam  and  sent  them  in  driving  clouds 
far  over  the  heights.  The  hawsers,  the  anchor  chains, 
the  cables  strained  and  wrenched  and  strained,  while 
brave  men,  looking  at  the  wicked  rocks  seen  dimly  by 
the  breaking  dawn,  knew  that  their  only  chance  of  life 
lay  in  the  holding  of  their  anchors.  An  American  ship 
was  the  first  to  go.  She  drifted  swiftly  to  the  cliffs  and 
disappeared,  timbers  and  crew.  The  next  to  follow  was 
the  ship  whose  captain  had  given  the  warning.  It  made 
a  brief  fight  for  life.  The  port  anchor  held — masts, 
rigging,  were  cut  away.  To  no  purpose.  The  cable 
parted,  she  drifted  broadside  to  the  cliff,  crashed  against 
it  once,  twice.  A  few  men  were  carried  by  the  breakers 
up  the  rocks,  bruised,  mangled.  The  captain  himself 
was  crushed  between  the  rocks  and  the  ship,  as  he  hung 
from  a  life-line  thrown  by  those  on  shore.  Another  and 
another  and  another  ship  followed  in  quick  succession. 


2G0  MARM  ADUKE 

The  roar  of  the  tempest,  the  crashing  of  timbers,  the 
howling  of  the  wind,  the  noise  of  the  engines  straining 
full  speed  ahead  to  hold  their  anchorage  against  the 
storm,  drowned  all  outcry;  the  terror,  the  dismay,  the 
despair  of  it  passed  as  it  were  in  silence.  Within  the 
inlet  harbour  one  vessel  crashed  against  the  next  and  so, 
huddled  in  heaps,  they  drifted  to  pile  themselves  in 
shivered  hulks  upon  the  shore.  Helpless  to  help,  power- 
less to  save,  the  spectators  clinging  like  limpets  to  stone 
walls  and  stanchions  looked  on  while  one  after  another 
the  brave  ships  which  but  the  day  before  had  seemed  to 
spurn  the  waves  in  their  pride  were  beaten,  buffeted, 
engulfed,  submerged  in  the  seething  cauldron  of  surf  and 
spray  and  mad,  infuriated  billows,  answering  to  the 
challenge  of  the  wind.  The  Prince,  the  finest  vessel  in 
the  bay,  new  built,  powerfully  engined,  held  out  the 
longest.  There  were  hopes  for  her,  but  the  sea  willed 
otherwise.  Slowly,  slowly  the  anchor  dragged,  and  five 
minutes  after  she  struck  not  a  vestige  of  the  good  ship 
remained.  Meanwhile  on  shore  the  hurricane  had 
brought  disaster  untold.  Houses  were  roofless,  tents 
swept  bodily  into  the  deep  ravines  with  their  occupants. 
It  was  noon  ere  the  wind  abated  somewhat,  allowing 
stock  to  be  taken  of  the  damage.  Far  out  at  sea  could 
be  seen  the  hulls  of  the  vessels  that  had  weathered  the 
storm,  mostly  disabled,  mastless ;  but  it  was  known  that 
five-and-twenty  vessels  had  gone  down  with  practically 
all  on  board. 

As  the  tempest  subsided  the  bodies  of  the  drowned 
were  dashed  by  the  breakers  against  the  rocks  or  cast 
up  in  tiny  creeks  upon  the  beach. 

Marrion  had  taken  her  charges  to  a  place  of  safety,  the 


MARMADUKE  261 

house  she  was  in  being  too  exposed ;  and  then,  thinking 
she  might  help,  went  down  to  the  harbour.  The  waves 
still  ran  dangerously  high,  and  over  on  the  farther  side 
Englishmen  were  busy  with  lifeboats,  rescuing  some  of 
the  crews  of  the  smaller  ships  which,  having  held  their 
anchors  so  far,  were  still  in  imminent  danger  of  going 
down.  As  she  passed  a  knot  of  local  fishermen  on  her 
way  to  where  apparently  help  might  be  required,  her  eyes 
followed  theirs  and  she  realised  to  her  horror  that  they 
were  calmly  looking  at  a  man  —  a  mere  boy  —  who 
about  sixty  yards  from  the  shore  was  clinging  to  a 
stationary  spar,  part  doubtless  of  some  submerged  craft. 
His  face  was  clearly  visible,  the  agonised  appeal  vitalis- 
ing its  exhaustion,  its  pallor.  Only  for  a  few  minutes 
more  could  that  grip  hold  ! 

She  was  alert  in  an  instant. 

"Go!"  she  cried  vehemently  in  Russian.  "Quick! 
A  boat  is  there !  Quick — save — for  Christ's  sake, 
save !" 

Urged  more  by  her  actions  than  her  words,  the  men 
fell  in  with  them.  Ready  hands,  besides  her  practised 
ones,  ran  down  the  boat. 

But  then,  no  one  stirred  !  It  was  not  an  impossible 
task,  it  was  only  dangerous.  That,  however,  was  enough. 
Why  should  they  risk  their  lives  to  save  an  unknown 
lad — a  mere  boy  ?  But  it  was  that  very  youth  which 
appealed  to  the  woman,  who  stood  for  an  instant  with 
bitter  anger  at  her  heart. 

"Curse  you  for  cowards  !"  she  cried  as  she  sprang  in 
and  seized  the  oars.  The  boat,  already  afloat,  shot  out 
from  the  shore  by  her  weight.  The  next  instant  she  had 
the  oars  in  and  was  fighting  for  her  life — and  his.     For 


262  MARMADUKE 

his — yes,  fighting,  fighting,  fighting  for  life  to  something 
unknown.  She  set  her  teeth  and  dreamed  with  the 
appalling  swiftness  of  dreams  of  the  far  Northern  sea. 
Yes,  she  was  afloat  on  it  with  Duke — no !  it  was  Duke 
she  had  to  save.  It  was  Duke,  or  someone  belonging 
to  Duke,  who  clung  to  that  spar  now  so  close,  so 
close 

On  shore,  a  man  passing  along  a  quay  hard  by  saw  her, 
and  ran  down  with  an  oath. 

Almost  there — almost !  She  glanced  behind  her,  saw 
the  young  face;  but  only  for  a  second.'  The  hold  of  the 
clenched  hands  relaxed,  the  head  fell  back,  the  body  slid 
into  the  water.     Too  late  ! 

No,  not  too  late  !  Without  one  instant's  hesitation 
Marrion  was  over  the  side,  keeping  the  oar  in  her  left 
hand  as  she  leapt. 

Now  she  had  gripped  something  floating  for  a  second 
and  was  on  the  surface  again,  rising  within  arm's  grip 
of  the  oar. 

In  her  ears  a  thousand  voices  seemed  whispering — 
Safe,  safe,  safe !  You  are  the  saviour,  the  creator,  the 
protectress. — She  struck  out  boldly.  Then  a  huge  breaker 
took  her  to  its  breast  and  held  her  fast. 

When  she  came  to  herself  she  was  lying  on  a  bed  and 
looking  round  she  realised  that  she  was  in  the  very  room 
of  the  cavalry  hospital  where  her  father  had  died.  It 
had  been  the  nearest  place,  she  supposed.  The  sunlight 
was  streaming  in.  She  was  quite  alone.  Doubtless 
everyone  was  busy — they  always  were. 

Then  on  a  table  within  reach  she  saw  a  cup  of  milk  and 
a  glass.  A  paper  lay  beside  them.  Scrawled  on  it,  very 
large,  was  this  advice — 


MARMADUKE  263 

"  Take  these  and  go  to  sleep  again  !" 

It  was  Doctor  Forsyth's  writing  and  with  a  sense  of 
safety  she  obeyed. 

When  she  roused  again  it  was  evening ;  the  room  was 
almost  dark,  but  a  figure  stood  at  the  window.  In  an 
instant  remembrance  came  back  to  her  and  raised  a 
curiosity  which  had  doubtless  been  lying  dormant,  as  she 
had  been,  for  nigh  six-and-thirty-hours. 

"  Did  I  save  the  boy  ?"  she  asked  suddenly  in  a  loud 
strong  voice. 

Doctor  Forsyth,  for  it  was  he,  smiled  as  he  walked  up 
to  the  bed. 

"  I  really  cannot  say,  my  dear  lady,  whether  you  saved 
him  or  not.  You  did  your  best,  anyhow,  and  the  same 
wave  washed  you  both  ashore."  He  had  been  feeling 
her  pulse  as  he  spoke.  "All  right,"  he  continued,  "I 
fancy  you  can  get  up  if  you  choose.  And  you  will 
be  a  bit  busy,  for  the  mail  steamer  goes  to-morrow 
and  you  should  take  the  first  opportunity  of  getting 
home." 

She  stared  at  him. 

"Home!"  she  echoed.  "I  am  not  going  home.  I 
I  want  to  work — and  I  should  like  to  die  out  here.  What 
is  there  for  me  to  do  at  home  ?" 

Doctor  Forsyth  hesitated  a  moment.  He  was  ciphering 
out  conclusions.  The  reason  he  had  to  give  her  was  one 
which  must,  despite  its  joy,  give  pain.  Better  therefore 
to  speak  out  while  her  mind  was  still  too  confused  to 
grasp  the  immensity  of  either. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  gentleness 
itself,  "  I  must  deny  all  your  statements.  You  are  going 
home.     You  do  not  want  to  die  out  here,  and  you  will 


264  MARMADUKE 

have  plenty  to  do  at  home  looking  after" — he  paused — 
"  the  colonel's  child." 

He  turned  and  left  her  voiceless,  but  athrill  to  her 
finger-tips,  wondering  why  she  had  not  guessed  it  before. 

Then  with  a  rush  came  remembrance.  "People  who 
play  Providence " 

She  gave  a  moan  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 


CHAPTER  XI 

When  Marrion  arrived  in  England  just  before  Christ- 
mas she  found  a  white  world  of  snow.  But  it  seemed  to 
her  not  so  white,  so  pure,  so  chill  as  that  soft  pall  which 
had  lain  on  Marmaduke  Muir's  grave  on  the  Balkan 
heights,  when,  stopping  at  Varna  on  her  way  home  on 
purpose  to  visit  it,  she  had  found  it  unrecognisable  under 
the  heavy  snow.  For  the  winter  of  >54-,55  was  the 
severest  on  record,  even  in  those  southern  mountains. 

There  had  seemed  no  room  there  for  her  tears,  her 
remorse,  her  pitiful  plaint  to  be  forgiven  for  trying  to 
play  Providence.  So  she  had  come  away  more  stunned 
than  ever. 

After  all  her  long  years  of  self-sacrifice  to  find  that 
every  step  she  had  taken  was  a  mistake  was  bitter  in- 
deed; but  to  realise  that  if  the  child  lived — and  this 
time  she  meant  to  ensure  that  there  should  be  no  ransom 
of  her  life — she  would  have  deprived  Marmaduke's  child 
of  its  birthright  was  agony. 

Yet  there  was  no  escape.  Even  if  Andrew  Fraser 
had  been  forthcoming — and  no  news  of  him  had  come 
since  Alma's  heights  were  won — she  still  would  not  have 
made  a  claim.  That  was  over  and  done  with.  She  had 
promised  the  old  man  none  should  be  made,  she  had 
persuaded  Duke  to  do  the  same,  and  they  must  stand 
by  their  word. 

265 


266  MARMADUKE 

She  brooded  and  brooded  over  this  until  once  more 
self-sacrifice  became  an  obsession  with  her.  Not  even 
for  the  sake  of  his  child  should  Duke's  honour  be 
smirched.  Besides  it  might  be  a  girl,  and  then  it  would 
not  matter  so  much.  Besides,  and  this  clinched  the 
question,  even  with  Andrew  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  a 
marriage ;  for  during  those  few  short  years  she  had  not 
troubled  to  act  as  a  wife.  The  knowledge  that  she  was 
married  had  been  enough  for  both  her  and  Duke;  she 
had  always  been  known  as  Mrs.  Marsden.  A  lawsuit 
would  be  dreadful — was  unthinkable. 

No,  she  could  do  nothing  to  rectify  her  past  mistakes. 
She  must  dree  her  weird — she  could  not  get  away 
from  her  past.  In  that,  as  in  all  things  else,  the  doctor 
had  been  right.  When  the  time  came  nearer  she  would 
follow  his  advice  and  go  to  Edinburgh  to  the  man  who 
had  invented  chloroform.  Doctor  Forsyth  had  said  he 
was  kind.  She  would  tell  him  her  story  and  beg  him  to 
let  her  die  and  save  the  child. 

Meanwhile,  there  was  the  gold  snuff-box,  and  it  meant 
more  to  her  now  than  when  it  was  given.  It  meant  that 
there  would  be  someone  kin  to  the  child — someone  who, 
perhaps,  if  her  life  was  taken  as  toll,  would  look  after  it. 
She  must  try  while  there  was  yet  time ;  that  was  her  first 
charge. 

She  set  to  work  at  once,  therefore,  to  arrange  for  a  visit 
to  Poland.  The  extraordinary  likeness  to  her  father  of 
which  he  himself  had  spoken,  which  Doctor  Forsyth  had 
noticed,  and  which  she  also  had  seen,  was  too  valuable 
an  asset  to  be  wasted.  Yes,  she  would  go  over  to  the 
ancestral  house,  give  the  gold  snuff-box  into  safe  keeping, 
and  ask,  even  beg,  for  recognition.     Even  if  her  father 


MARMADUKE  267 

had  been  a  widower,  one  of  the  sons  might  be  married, 
there  might  be  a  woman  with  a  pitiful  heart  to  listen  and 
sympathise.  But  ere  she  went  she  must  write  to  Peter 
Muir.  To  begin  with,  she  could  assure  him  that  his 
brother  had  been  well  looked  after.  And  then  she  had 
nothing,  positively  nothing,  of  Marmaduke's ;  and  Peter, 
knowing  the  care  she  had  lavished  on  him  all  those  years, 
might  give  her  something.  The  ring  he  had  always  worn 
was  what  she  craved  most.  In  those  long  ago  days, 
though  there  was  not  so  very  much  difference  in  their 
heights,  what  he  wore  on  his  little  finger  had  fitted  her 
second.  It  had  been  too  large  for  her  third  when  he  had 
wanted  her  to  wear  it  in  place  of  a  plain  gold  band; 
so  she  had  bidden  him  wear  it  instead — little  tender 
memory  which  seemed  so  precious  now. 

So  she  wrote  in  the  fine  slanting  caligraphy  of  the  day 
a  somewhat  stilted  little  letter  asking  for  what  she- 
wanted  as  a  favour,  not  a  demand,  since  "  though  I  have 
a  claim,  I  have  no  right." 

In  reply  she  received  a  friendly  note. 

"  Dear  Marrion, 

"  If  you  will  come  and  see  me  I  will  give  you  the 
ring,  and  something  else" 

She  had  sent  her  letter  to  Peter's  club,  but  this  was 
dated  from  a  house  in  Palace  Yard.  So  she  went  there. 
It  was  a  fine  old  house.  A  footman  opened  the  door,  a 
butler  advanced  to  meet  her,  a  majordomo  out  of  livery 
stood  half-way  up  the  stairs.  Very  different  this  from 
the  old  days  when  the  two  brothers  had  been  more  or 
less  out  at  elbows  all  the  time ;  but  now,  of  course,  Peter 
was  heir  to  the  estates. 


268  MARMADUKE 

She  found  him,  looking  wretchedly  ill,  in  a  most 
luxurious  study,  and  his  weak  face  lit  up  at  the  sight  of 
her  in  the  friendliest  of  fashions. 

"Sit  down  in  a  comfortable  chair,"  he  said,  and  there 
was  a  querulous  note  in  his  voice.  "  Really,  in  times  like 
these,  when,  as  the  paraphrase  runs,  '  days  are  dark  and 
friends  are  few/  and  '  gathering  clouds '  are  the  normal 
outlook,  it  is  a  duty  to  be  comfortable  and  bring  up  the 
average.  When  Marmaduke  was — was  here — he  was  for 
ever  at  me  for  extravagance.  Hated  the  Jews  and  used 
to  borrow  from  old  Jack  Jardine  instead.  Paid  off  some- 
thing, but  not  all,  I'm  afraid ;  and  Pitt,  the  virtuous  Pitt — 
he  owed  him  thousands.  However,  as  I  was  saying,  it's  a 
duty  nowadays  to  be  comfortable,  so  IVe  any  amount  of 
post-obits  out — to  say  nothing  of  kites.  They're  always 
coming  back  wanting  a  longer  string  or  a  new  tail.  But 
I  don't  care.  The  old  man  may  outlast  me,  and  anyhow 
I  can't  live  long ;  so  it's  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one." 

Looking  at  his  hectic  flush  and  with  a  damp  cold  of 
his  hands  fresh  on  the  touch  of  hers  Marrion  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  combat  his  easy  philosophy. 

"  And  your  father  ?"  she  asked. 

Peter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  usual,  only  more  so."  He  paused  and  spoke  more 
seriously.  "Of  course  Marmaduke's  death  cut  him  to 
the  quick.  But  I  won't  speak  of  that — I  can't.  He  was 
the  only  one — and  I  believe  it  was  the  same  with  the 
Baron.  He  showed  it  in  anger.  Won't  see  or  hear  of 
me,  yet  I'd  do  my  best  for  him.  Ton  my  soul,  that  old 
man  has  been  the  curse  of  all  our  lives." 

Marrion  sat  silent.  In  a  way  it  was  true.  The  old 
spider  had  enticed  more  flies  than  he  knew  of  into  his 


MARMADUKE  269 

net.     But  for  her  desire  that  Marmaduke  should  not  fall 
foul  of  his  father 

But  that  way  lay  madness.  She  was  beginning  to 
learn  that  she  could  scarcely  trust  her  own  judgment. 
The  whole  thing  was  so  pitiful  that  reason  seemed 
impossible. 

"And  may  I  have  the  ring?"  she  asked,  in  order  to 
change  the  venue. 

"You  can  have  that,  and  a  good  deal  more  besides," 
replied  Peter  Muir,  giving  her  a  queer  look  as  he  rose  to 
go  to  a  despatch-box  that  lay  on  the  table  and  which 
Marrion  recognised  as  Marmaduke's. 

"  When  this  thing  came  home,"  he  continued,  searching 
in  it.  "Oh,  here  is  the  ring!"  (He  handed  it  to  her, 
and  she  thrilled  at  the  touch  of  it,  as  she  would  •  ive 
thrilled  to  the  touch  of  the  man  who  had  worn  it.)  "I 
did  not  look  over  the  papers  very  carefully — I  hadn't  the 
heart;  but  when  I  was  looking  for  that  ring  yesterday, 
I  found — something — which  interests  you." 

He  held  out  an  envelope  and  she  took  it  indifferently ; 
few  things  really  interested  her  nowadays.  It  was 
addressed  to  Major  Muir  at  his  club,  and  a  vague  wonder 
as  to  what  it  could  contain  crossed  her  mind  as  she  took 
out  the  paper  it  contained. 

Then  she  sat  silent  staring  at  it  helplessly,  for  it  was 
Duke's  counterpart  of  their  marriage  bond  which  she 
thought  she  had  seen  burnt  to  ashes  on  that  night  when 
Marmaduke  had  said,  "You  have  made  me  feel  like  a 
scoundrel !" 

How  idle,  how  unreal  this  world  was  !  Could  one  be 
sure  of  anything  ?  Could  one  be  certain  that  everything 
was  not  a  dream  ? 


270  MARMADUKE 

Peter's  voice  roused  her. 

u  Of  course  it  doesn't  make  much  difference  to  us  now. 
Marmaduke  left  a  very  few  pounds,  and  your  third  as 
wife  wouldn't  amount  to  anything.  But  there  is  his 
portion  when  the  peer  dies,  and  I  can't  see  why  my  young 
oaf  of  a  cousin  who  will  come  in  eventually  should  have 
it ;  for  even  if  I  outlive  my  father  I  shall  have  enough  for 
my  time.  And  you  were — well,  you  were  a  brick  to 
Marmaduke — and  to  me,  too.  You  always  denied  this 
marriage  :  but  I  had  a  notion  it  was  only  denial.  There 
is  no  reason,  therefore,  why  you  shouldn't  use  this — it  is 
proof  positive  of  marriage,  and  if  I  were  you  I  would. 
You  are  the  only  survivor  and  therefore  have  the  action ; 
besides,  it  would  annoy  the  old  man  extremely,  and, 
upon  my  soul,  he  deserves  all  he  can  get." 

He  had  struck  the  wrong  chord.  To  Marrion,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  one  enthralling  question  as  to  whether 
Marmaduke  had  known  of  this  survival  or  whether  he 
had  not,  the  suggestion  that  she  was  the  sole  arbiter  came 
as  a  shock. 

"  We  agreed,"  she  said  slowly,  "  to  annul  the  marriage. 
He  thought — I  know  he  thought — this  paper  had  been 
burnt ;  and  it  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  our  inten- 
tion that  it  wasn't.  And  then  we  promised,  we  both 
promised  your  father  no  claim  should  ever  be  made. 
Because  Duke  is  dead  is  that  any  reason " 

She  rose  suddenly,  walked  to  the  fireplace,  and  threw 
the  envelope  and  its  contents  on  the  fire. 

u  That  is  what  Duke  meant,"  she  muttered  to  herself 
helplessly. 

Peter  Muir  watched  her  with  a  half-cynical,  half- 
admiring  smile. 


MARMADUKE  271 

"Well,  you  know  best,  my  dear.  And,  of  course,  I 
personally  would  never  let  you  come  to  want."  The 
capable  woman  looked  at  him,  the  incapable  man,  with 
wondering  tolerance.  "Still,  I  must  say  I  am  disap- 
pointed. I  should  like  to  have  seen  the  governors  face 
when  you  sprang  it  upon  him.  Remember  he  is  the 
villain  of  the  piece  and,  as  I  said,  deserves  everything  he 
can  get." 

"  That  may  be,"  replied  Marrion,  "  but  can't  you  see  we 
were  all  at  fault  ?  And  we  have  to  pay  for  it.  We  must — 
you  can't  get  rid  of  the  past." 

She  said  the  words  over  and  over  to  herself,  and  it 
was  not  till  she  reached  her  lodgings  that  she  realised 
fully  that  the  past  had  claimed  the  future.  Yet  what 
else  could  she  have  done  ?  If  she  had  only  known  what 
Duke  would  have  said  !  Had  he  found  out  the  paper, 
or  had  he  not  ?  Was  that  the  reason  why  in  those  short 
ten  days  of  heaven  he  had  never,  never,  never  alluded 
to  the  past  ?  And  yet  that  heavenly  present  had  become 
the  past  too,  and  had  stretched  out  into  the  future.  Had 
she  been  taken  by  surprise?  Had  she  made  another 
mistake  ? 

She  threw  herself  on  her  bed  and  cried  quite  foolishly, 
until  perforce,  being  physically  unable  to  cry  any  more, 
her  mind  reasserted  itself  and  thought  came  again. 

One  thing  seemed  clear.  She  could  not  possibly  tell 
what  Duke  knew  or  did  not  know ;  she  could  not  be  sure 
what  he  would  have  thought;  and  she  would  have  no 
more  of  trying  to  impose  her  views  on  him. 

That  being  so,  the  only  person  who  had  any  say  in  the 
matter  was  Lord  Drummuir.  For  the  sake  of  the  heir 
he  might  absolve  her  of  the  promise.     But  the  child 


272  MARMADUKE 

might  be  a  girl,  it  might  not  live.  Finally  she  began  to 
cry  again  softly,  silently ;  the  tears  that  count  for  utter  soul- 
weariness.  And  in  truth  she  was  weary— the  one  thing 
that  seemed  clear  being  that  she  had  failed;  that  she 
had  mismanaged  everything,  that  everything  seemed 
in  a  hopeless  tangle.  She  was,  in  sober  truth,  very  near 
the  limit  of  perfect  sanity  when,  with  a  passport  secured 
through  Peter  Muir's  Vienna  influence,  she  started  for 
Krakowitz,  the  village  on  the  Russian  side  of  the  Car- 
pathians, near  which  the  Pauloffski  estates  lay.  It  was 
a  difficult  journey — one  which  she  had  judged  rightly 
had  better  be  undertaken  at  once ;  but  the  change  did  her 
good,  and  she  was  almost  herself  again  before  it  came  to  a 
conclusion;  yet  as  the  sledge  with  its  tinkling  bells  and 
four  horses  toiled  up  the  last  hill  or  two  she  felt  depres- 
sion come  upon  her  again.  The  outlook,  supremely 
beautiful,  was  still  melancholy  to  a  degree.  Snow,  snow 
everywhere.  The  towering  peaks,  the  valleys,  the  pine 
forests  all  burdened  with  it,  like  Marmaduke's  grave 
had  been.  A  light  burden,  but  so  cold — so  deathly 
cold  1 

As  the  sledge  dashed  up  the  steep  narrow  drive  and 
the  pine  trees  that  swept  their  snow  layered  branches 
overhead  some  of  their  burden  fell  in  soft  masses  on 
Marrion's  furs. 

The  driver  turned  round  with  a  smile  and  said  in 
Russian : 

"  That  is  absolution  from  sin,  Excellency." 

Curious  answer  to  her  thoughts,  and  with  the  answer 
came  a  remembrance,  "  Though  your  sins  are  as  scarlet, 
they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow." 

And  the  remembrance  brought  confidence.     Perhaps, 


MARMADUKE  273 

after  all,  the  tangle  consequent  on  her  playing  Provi- 
dence might  be  going  to  be  straightened  out. 

The  front  door  of  the  unpretentious  tower,  with  a 
building  like  a  barn  built  on  to  it,  that  stood  magnifi- 
cently on  a  little  plateau  overlooking  the  valley  with  a 
faint  glimpse  of  plain  beyond,  was  wide  open,  and  at  it, 
standing  against,  but  not  leaning  upon  the  pilaster,  was 
the  most  striking  figure  of  a  woman  Marrion  thought 
she  had  ever  seen.  Extreme  old  age  had  set  its  mark  on 
the  lined  face,  with  thin  white  hair  drawn  under  a  lace 
lappet ;  but  the  figure  was  that  of  a  girl  of  twenty.  Ex- 
traordinarily tall,  massive  in  proportion,  but  upright  as 
a  dart  and  with  activity  in  every  curve  and  line. 

The  lady  gave  a  dignified  bow  as  Marrion,  still  closely 
veiled  as  protection  from  the  bitter  cold,  came  up  the 
steps. 

"  Princess  Pauloff ski  ?"  she  asked  tentatively  in 
French,  for  it  was  impossible  to  think  the  figure  that  of 
a  servant. 

"  I  am  Princess  Pauloff  ski,"  was  the  dignified  reply  in 
slightly  guttural  French. 

"Might  I  speak  with  you  for  a  few  minutes?"  con- 
tinued Marrion  nervously. 

The  Princess  smiled. 

"  Ah,  you  are  English  !  My  son  Paul  was  a  long  time 
in  England  or  Scotland,"  she  replied  in  better  English 
than  her  French.  "  You  must  be  cold ;  come  in  and  take 
off  your  wraps." 

A  few  rapid  words  in  the  country  dialect  sent  driver 
and  sledge  round  to  the  stables  while  Marrion,  with  an 
unforeseen  thrill  of  pleasure,  recognised  that  this  beauti- 
ful old  princess  must  be  her  grandmother. 

iS 


274  MARMADUKE 

"I  was  looking  for  my  sons  and  daughters  who  are 
dead,"  said  her  hostess  quietly  as  she  led  the  way  into 
the  house.  "  The  dead  always  come  back  with  the  snow 
— and  I  have  so  many." 

Despite  the  warmth  of  the  wide  passage  heated  by  a 
huge  stove  Marrion  felt  a  slight  shiver  run  through  her. 
How  had  her  grandmother  learnt  to  speak  of  the  dead 
as  if  they  were  alive  ? 

As  she  passed  on  to  a  sitting-room  where  a  great  fire 
of  pine  logs  was  burning  on  an  open  hearth  Marrion 
removed  her  veil  and  threw  off  her  heavy  fur  cloak. 

So,  as  she  came  out  of  the  dark  passage  into  the  sun- 
light that  streamed  through  the  sitting-room  windows, 
she  stood  revealed.  The  effect  was  not  nearly  as  start- 
ling as  she  had  anticipated,  but  it  was  far  more  over- 
whelming. 

The  old  face  lit  up  with  sudden  pleasure,  the  thin  old 
hands  were  stretched  out — 

"Sacha!"  she  said.  "Darling,  after  all  these  years! 
And  you  never  came  before.  Paul  did — and  he  was 
your  twin — though  he  has  only  just  gone,  Sacha !  I 
have  wanted  you  so  often." 

The  tears  sprang  to  Marrion's  eyes. 

"  Dear  lady,"  she  said,  taking  the  outstretched  hands 
and  holding  their  chilliness  of  age  in  her  warm  clasp, 
"I  am  not  Sacha.     I  am  Paul's  daughter  !" 

Princess  Pauloffski  drew  back  and  passed  her  hand 
over  her  eyes. 

"  Excuse  me.  I  forget.  I  live  so  much  alone  and  my 
dead  come  to  see  me  so  often  when  there  is  snow.     But 

if  you  are  not  Sacha "     She  took  a  step  forward  and 

scanned  her  visitor  narrowly.     "  You  say  you  are  Paul's 


MARMADUKE  275 

daughter — an  English  daughter — did  he  then  marry 
over  there  ?  For  it  is  true  you  are  his  daughter — even 
his  twin  was  not  more  like.  Come,  sit  down,  child,  and 
tell  me  how  you  come  by  Paul  Pauloffski's  face  ?" 

It  was  almost  incredible !  Marrion  as  she  obeyed  her 
grandmother's  gesture  felt  inexpressible  relief.  Here 
there  was  no  haggling,  no  questioning.  She  was  taken 
literally  on  her  face  value.     It  was  a  haven  of  rest. 

Together  they  sat  on  the  quaint  old  settle  as  if  they 
had  known  each  other  for  years,  while  Marrion  told  her 
tale.  She  produced  the  golden  snuff-box,  with  its 
glittering  monogram,  and  laid  it  in  the  old  Princess's 
lap ;  but  she  merely  glanced  at  it.  Her  chilly  old  hands 
were  busy  detaining  the  hand  that  had  laid  it  there — the 
hand  that  was  still  alive. 

"Yes,  Paul  is  dead,"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself. 
"Sacha  died  first  when  she  was  so  beautiful,  like  you. 
And  Paul's  wife  died,-  and  now  his  two  sons  are  gone ; 
there  is  none  left  but  me,  and  I  am  very  old.  And  now 
you  come — tell  me  more,  child  ! " 

And  Marrion  went  on  with  the  story.  It  was  like  a 
dream  to  be  sitting  there  in  the  streaming  sunlight  heart 
to  heart  as  it  were  with  someone  of  whose  very  existence 
she  had  been  unaware  but  one  short  half-hour  before. 

"Was  he  a  commoner  or  noble?"  asked  the  old 
princess  quickly,  when  Marrion  mentioned  her  marriage. 

"  He  had  no  title  then,"  began  the  latter. 

The  old  fingers  tightened  their  curiously  protecting 
clasp. 

"  Then  you  are  still  Princess  Pauloffski !  I  am  glad," 
was  interrupted  with  satisfaction.  "We  of  this  house 
do  not  change  our  names  when  we  marry  beneath  us,  as 


276  MARMADUKE 

I  did ;  for,  my  dear,  this,  the  soil" — she  waved  her  other 
hand  in  an  all-embracing  gesture — "was  my  father's, 
and  my  father's  father's.     My  husband  was  a  good  kind 

man.     I  loved  him — but Go  on,  child." 

And  Marrion  went  on. 

"  Now,  God  be  praised  ! — God  in  His  High  Heaven 
be  praised!"  cried  the  old  Princess  exultantly.  "And 
you  here — braving  the  cold,  spending  your  life !"  She 
seized  a  little  brazen  bell  that  lay  on  the  table  beside  her 
and  rang  it  violently.  A  very  old  maid-servant  ap- 
peared, and  was  addressed  volubly  in  patois.  But  that 
many  orders  were  given  Marrion  judged  by  the  frequent 
bob  curtsey  of  the  domestic  who  finally  trotted  out  in 
great  haste. 

"Not  one  word  more,  darling !"  cried  the  old  woman, 
forgetful  of  everything  save  abounding  sympathy. 
"  Quick,  to  the  fire  !  Toast  your  feet — so  !  Lean  back 
on  the  cushions !  Make  yourself  quite  comfortable. 
Remember  you  have  to  think  of  someone  besides  your- 
self." She  dragged  an  armchair  closer  to  the  hearth 
with  all  the  strength  of  youth.  She  bustled  the  cushions 
to  shape ;  she  removed  Marrion's  hat  and  finally  kissed 
her  softly  on  the  forehead  with  a  murmured,  "  God  bless 
you  both!" 

It  was  too  much.  Marrion  dissolved  into  slow  quiet 
tears.  For  the  first  time  since  Doctor  Forsyth  had  told 
her  why  she  must  go  home  she  felt  really  that  she  was 
blessed  amongst  women — yea,  amongst  women  like  this 
one ! 

"But  you  don't  know!"  she  half  sobbed.  "You 
haven't  looked  to  see.     I  may  be  an  impostor." 

"  Not  with  that  face,  dearie,"  beamed  the  old  Princess. 


MARMADUKE  277 

"  Cry  on  !  The  tears  will  warm  your  heart.  It  has 
been  cold,  I  expect,  and  little  ones  don't  thrive  when  the 
heart  above  them  is  cold.  Ah,  here  comes  Magda  with 
the  posset !" 

And  Marrion  drank  something  hot  and  spicy  and 
delicious  while  the  mistress  discoursed  to  the  old  serving- 
maid  and  the  old  serving-maid  finally  fell  at  Marrion' s 
feet  and  positively  worshipped  her. 

It  was  all  so  bewildering,  so  unexpected,  that  Marrion 
just  lay  back  and  let  the  slow  tears  trickle  down  her 
cheeks  in  quiet  orderly  fashion.  The  puzzledom,  the 
regrets  of  the  last  few  months,  seemed  to  vanish.-  For  a 
while,  in  stress  of  these  new  emotions,  she  forgot  even 
her  grief  for  Duke. 

But  as  the  two  women,  the  old  and  the  young  one, 
sat  and  talked  after  the  sledge  had  been  sent  away,  and 
Marrion  had  been  simply  commanded  to  remain  for  at 
least  a  week  to  rest,  there  was  enough  of  grief  and  to 
spare  in  their  conversation,  besides  Marmaduke's  death — 
over  which  the  Princess  was  vaguely  sympathetic — since, 
though  he  had  been  a  British  soldier,  he  had,  by  the 
decree  of  Providence,  not  drawn  his  sword  as  an  enemy. 
And  Marrion  had  been  as  an  angel  of  mercy  healing 
Jews,  Turks,  infidels,  and  heretics  without  distinction. 
Had  she  not  closed  the  eyes  of  her  own  father  ? 

"  I  knew  that  he  was  dead,"  said  the  firm  old  voice, 
"  though  he  was  only  reported  as  missing ;  for  he  came 
back  as  the  children  of  this  old  house  always  do  come 
back  to  see  it  once  more.  Alexis  and  Danish  both  came 
also — they  were  fine  young  fellows,  and  I  wept  when  the 
news  came;  but  they  died  as  Pauloffskis  should  die, 
fighting  for  the  master.     And  I  have  wept — dear  heart ! 


278  MARMADUKE 

how  I  have  wept  to  think  that  never  again  would  a  real 
son  of  the  real  race  rule  over  the  barren  acres ;  for,  see 
you,  there  are  no  near  collaterals.  The  Pauloffski  men 
die  young,  fighting,  as  my  sons  and  grandsons  died. 
But  now" — she  clasped  her  hands  ecstatically — "now 
there  will  be  an  heir." 

"Supposing  it  is  a  girl,"  suggested  Marrion,  half 
laughing,  half  crying. 

The  old  woman  swept  her  hands  out  in  an  indignant 
unconcern. 

"What  matters  it?  A  child  is  ever  a  child!  Ever 
a  chip  of  the  old  block,  ever  a  fresh  root  of  an  old  race. 
We  have  no  Salic  law  here  in  Russia.  A  princess  is  as 
a  prince ;  mayhap  better  for  the  old  acres,  as  she  does  not 
spend  so  much  money  !" 

Marrion,  accustomed  to  the  rigid  rules  made  by  men, 
listened  amazed  and  interested ;  but  indeed  every  word 
that  fell  from  Princess  Pauloff ski's  lips  seemed  to  tighten 
the  bond  between  them. 

She  had  often  wondered  when  she  found  herself — as 
she  had  done  so  often — at  loggerheads  with  her  milieu 
whether  she  was  like  her  father.  Now  she  knew  that  she 
had  inherited  even  her  faults  from  this  strange  weird 
old  woman  who  lived  a  lonely  life  amongst  the  pine 
forests,  who  saw  dead  people  and  yet  ruled  her  domains 
with  absolute  despotism.  Marrion  had  never  had  a 
really  intimate  woman  friend  before.  She  found  one 
here,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  all  her  doubts  and  fears  van- 
ished. There  was  but  one  thing  she  kept  to  herself,  and 
that  was  the  possible  difficulty  which  might  arise  in 
proving  the  future  little  Prince  or  Princess  Pauloffski's 
title,  if  legal  proof  of  his  or  her  parents'  marriage  was 
not  forthcoming.     But  it  was  only  a  possible  difficulty. 


MARMADUKE  278 

For  all  she  knew  in  this  land  where  women  seemed  to 
stand  equal  with  men,  a  right  coming  to  a  child  through 
its  mother  might  be  inalienable.  She  did  not  know. 
She  did  not  care  to  ask.  For  the  time  being,  she  was 
happy  as  never  before  in  all  her  life  she  had  been  happy. 
The  ten  days'  paradise  with  Duke  had  not  been  of  this 
world.  But  even  so  it  had  been  restless.  The  happiness 
had  been  felt.  Here  one  did  not  think,  did  not  feel. 
One  was  content. 

So  she  wandered  with  the  old  Princess,  her  grand- 
mother— who,  though  she  was  past  eighty,  still  walked 
like  a  girl — through  the  pine  woods.  She  visited  the 
peasants'  cottages  where,  after  voluble  discoursings,  the 
women  always  fell  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  her.  She 
came  back  to  frugal  meals  and  quiet  evenings,  when  the 
Princess  would  discourse  over  every  subject  under  the 
sun;  for  she  was  a  great  reader  and  brought  a  shrewd 
feminine  wit  to  bear  on  most  problems.  And  the  most 
startling  thing  about  it  was  that  never  for  one  instant 
did  she  admit  the  slightest  inferiority  due  to  her  sex. 

"  Men  think  so,"  she  would  say,  "  but  they  are  wrong. 
By  nature  they  are  hunters  and  fighters  and  thinkers. 
It  is  the  women  who  manage  the  affairs.  It  will  be 
better  for  the  world  when  this  is  recognised." 

In  those  days  this  was  rank  heresy,  and  even  Marrion 
hesitated  to  admit  its  truth.  But  the  most  remarkable 
thing  about  her  grandmother  was  the  stable  youthfulness 
of  her  outlook.  Nothing  seemed  to  affect  it.  Death 
itself  made  way  for  her  strong  personality. 

So  the  days  passed  to  weeks,  the  weeks  to  more  than 
a  month,  and  Marrion  still  lingered.  A  very  different 
heritage  this  from  the  storm-set  cliffs,  the  rich  fields  of 
Aberdeenshire.     And   a  different  ancestress  this  from 


280  M  ARMADUKE 

the  wild,  wicked  old  man,  spinning  his  spider's-web 
round  his  very  children. 

Should  she,  after  all,  go  and  ask  him  to  let  her  break 
her  promise  for  the  sake  of  the  heir  ?  Would  it  not  be 
better  to  let  the  heirship  of  evil  slip,  and  choose  the 
heirship  of  good  ? 

The  question  was  still  undecided  when,  after  many 
delays,  she  set  foot  on  English  ground  again.  And  then 
the  first  thing  to  meet  her  eyes  in  the  newspaper  was 
the  death  of  Marmaduke,  sixteenth  Baron  Drummuir. 
There  was  a  whole  column  about  his  many  virtues;  a 
vague  reference  to  "sprightly  youth"  summing  up  his 
vices.  The  article  ended  thus :  "  The  title  descends  to 
the  late  peer's  third  son  Peter,  who,  we  regret  to  learn,  is 
in  a  very  delicate  state  of  health.  None  of  the  late  lord's 
sons  having  any  issue,  the  heir  presumptive  is  a  distant 
cousin,  etc." 

Marrion  felt  vaguely  relieved.  Unless  Andrew  Fraser 
turned  up — and  he,  she  knew,  if  he  saw  Marmaduke's 
child,  would  move  heaven  and  earth  to  establish  his 
claim  to  the  title — she  was  quit  of  Drummuir.  But  had 
she  any  right  to  be  quit  of  it  ?  The  old  arguments  for 
and  against  came  back;  she  began  to  worry  over  them 
once  more,  especially  when  the  verdict  of  the  Edinburgh 
specialist  to  whom  she  told  her  tale  with  passionate 
assurances  that  a  child's  life  was  always  more  valuable 
than  a  woman's,  came  succinctly  and  to  the  point. 

"  In  this  case,  my  dear  lady,  the  question  does  not 
appear  to  me  to  enter.  With  care  I  see  no  reason  why 
both  should  not  survive." 

It  was  something  of  a  shock,  for  it  materialised  many 
doubts,  many  difficulties. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  spring  had  passed  to  early  summer  when  Marrion, 
with  her  little  son  in  her  arms,  sat  in  a  sheltered  nook 
among  the  cliffs  on  the  Aberdeenshire  coast,  looking 
northwards  over  the  curved  sea-line  towards  the  promon- 
tory some  fifteen  miles  away,  on  which  she  knew  the  old 
castle  of  Drummuir  stood  as  it  had  stood  for  centuries. 
But  she  could  not  see  it  with  her  physical  eyes,  and  even 
in  her  mental  ones  it  bulked  but  little. 

For  the  great  protective  possession  of  motherhood  had 
overwhelmed  her,  and  her  very  regret  and  remembrance 
of  Marmaduke  only  made  her  hug  her  child  closer — as 
his,  and  hers. 

At  first  when  she  realised  that  life  spread  before  both 
her  and  the  little  Marmaduke  she  had  agonised  over  the 
thought  that  by  her  own  act  she  had  deprived  him  of  his 
birthright;  but  by  degrees  she  became  more  content  as 
she  persuaded  herself  that  that  fateful  envelope  could 
scarcely  have  remained  in  Marmaduke's  despatch-box 
without  his  knowledge.  Yet  he  had  never  mentioned  it. 
If  he  had  repented  of  the  action  which  at  the  time  he  had 
said  made  him  feel  like  a  scoundrel  he  could  have 
amended  it.  And  he  had  not  done  so.  Never,  never 
had  he  breathed  one  word  to  show  that  he  held  her, 
whom  he  had  so  tardily  learnt  to  love,  as  his  wife. 

And  here  in  her  chain  of  reasoning  she  always  stopped  ; 

281 


282  MARMADUKE 

for  she  knew — how  could  she  help  knowing  ? — that  if  he 

had  lived — if — if Always  that  if,  and  if  life  had  to 

be  lived,  it  must  be  set  aside.     And  life  had  to  be  lived. 

This  brought  her  back  to  the  child  in  her  arms,  and 
she  dreamt  happily  enough  of  the  future. 

It  was  not  as  if  the  boy  had  no  home.  As  long  as 
Princess  Pauloffski  ruled  over  the  pine  woods,  the  quaint 
homely  farmhouses,  and  the  devoted  peasants,  little 
Marmaduke  would  have  more  than  welcome;  for  every 
week  brought  ecstatic  letters  from  that  entrancing 
personality  which  had  already  made  such  a  mark  on 
Marrion's  character.  In  a  way  she  felt  that  she  had 
never  understood  her  own  womanhood  until  she  had  met 
with  the  all-embracing  femininity  of  the  brave,  wise,  old 
mind  which  seemed  to  hold  a  grip  of  the  whole  world 
in  its  very  isolation  and  solitude. 

Yes,  the  child  could  have  no  better  home;  and  even 
when  the  commanding,  lovable  figure  passed,  it  might 
be  that  he  would  remain  as  heir. 

So  Marrion  was  in  a  fever  to  have  the  child  there,  yet 
at  the  back  of  her  mind  was  a  vague  regret ;  and  she  had 
chosen  the  little  Aberdeenshire  fishing  village  as  the 
place  for  her  convalescence  because  from  it  she  could  see 
the  view  of  her  childhood  and  girlhood — see  right  away 
to  Rattray  Head  and  beyond  it ?     The  North  Pole ! 

She  was  not  afraid  of  being  recognised.  Fifteen  miles 
in  the  country  effaces  all  familiarity,  and  she  kept  much 
to  herself,  taking  the  child  down  with  her  day  after  day, 
to  some  sheltered  sandy  nook,  where  in  the  hot  June 
weather  she  could  sit  and  dream — rather  idly,  it  must 
be  confessed,  for  the  sheer  delight  of  living  to  have  a 
living  child  had  absorbed  her  mind.     So  the  days  passed, 


MARMADUKE  283 

until  for  the  last  time  she  carried  it  down  to  her  favourite 
beach. 

The  dry  warm  sand  was  a  perfect  cradle  for  the  child. 
She  scraped  a  little  hollow  in  it  at  her  feet,  laid  her 
treasure  down,  and  sat  on  a  boulder  beside  it,  in  absolute 
worship.  The  waves,  always  restless  on  the  North  Sea, 
tinkled  a  lullaby  on  the  rocks  hard  by. 

She  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  a  footstep.  So  few 
folk  ever  passed  that  she  looked  up  surprised.  Then  she 
gave  a  glad  cry  and  stood  up  holding  out  both  hands; 
for  it  was  Andrew  Fraser.  He  also  held  out  a  hand,  for 
one  empty  sleeve  of  his  coat  was  pinned  to  his  breast. 
He  came  rapidly  towards  her,  seemingly  unobservant  of 
the  child,  till  within  a  few  feet  of  her.  Then  he  stopped 
dead  and  stared  at  what  lay  at  her  feet. 

"I  didna  know,"  he  said,  brokenly  at  last.     "They 

didna   say God,    but    I'm    glad,    Marrion !     Oh, 

Marrion,  I'm  glad  I" 

Then  without  waiting  to  greet  her  he  knelt  down  for 
a  closer  look.  "He's  a  real  Drummuir,"  he  went  on 
ecstatically,  "  and  he  is  Drummuir !  Ah,"  he  added,  a 
trifle  irrationally,  "that  the  colonel  could  ha*  lived  to 
see  little  Lord  Drummuir  !" 

Something  gripped  at  Marrion's  heart. 

"Don't  let  us  speak  of  that  now,  Andrew,"  she  said 
hastily.  "  I  want  to  know — everything — your  poor 
arm " 

But  Andrew  for  the  time  being  was  entranced. 

"  It's  me,"  he  said,  "  is  wanting  to  know  !  And  how 
old  will  he  be  ?  And  why  did  the  doctor  fellow  no  tell 
me  when  he  tauld  me  aboot  you  ?" 

It  was  not  easy  to  beguile  him  from  the  subject,  but 


284  MARMADUKE 

bit  by  bit  Marrion  got  from  him  a  sparse  account  of  how, 
he  had  been  a  Russian  prisoner,  how  he  had  lost  his 
arm,  had  been  exchanged  as  disabled,  and  in  Balaklava 
had  come  across  Doctor  Forsyth,  who  had  given  him  an 
address  in  Edinburgh  where  he  would  be  sure  to  hear 
of  Marrion.  How  it  was  a  doctor  fellow  who  had  been 
too  busy  to  do  more  than  supply  him  with  the  name  of 
the  village,  whither  he  had  come  to  find 

Here  Marrion,  recognising  that  all  roads  must  lead  to 
the  one  point,  took  heart  of  grace  and  said  gently — 

"Me  and  my  child.  It  has  made  me  very  happy, 
Andrew.  And  I  am  so  glad  you  found  me  to-day,  for 
I  am  going  away  to-morrow." 

Andrew  stood  up. 

"  GonV  whaur  ?"  he  asked  sharply.  "  Tae  Drummuir  ? 
An*  why  are  ye  not  there  the  now  ?M 

"  Because  I  have  no  right  there,  Andrew,"  she  replied, 
feeling  herself  tremble,  despite  the  boldness  of  her  words. 

"  Ye  may  have  nane,  woman,"  he  broke  in  sternly,  "  but 
your  child  has  the  right  to  all !  Are  ye  gain'  tae  steal  it 
frae  him  ?  An'  it's  foolishness  tae  talk  your  way ;  ye 
ken  fine  that  before  God  and  man  ye're  the  colonel's 
wife!" 

"  That  may  be,"  she  retorted,  "  but  as  I  told  you  long 
ago  there  is  no  legal  proof  of  it — and  I  do  not  choose — 
I  have  settled  what  I  think  right,  and  I  can  have  no 
interference." 

"  An*  is  it  what  you  wish  that  is  tae  take  the  birthright 
from  an  innocent  wean  that  canna  speak  for  himself  ?" 
burst  in  Andrew  passionately.     "  I  tell  ye,  Marrion,  that 
neither  you  nor  the  colonel — God  rest  him  for  a  brave  ^ 
gentleman — have  any  right  tae  order  yon  poor  scrap  o'  \ 


MARMADUKE  285 

God's  makin\  I  tell  ye  he  was  born  to  be  Drummuir  o* 
Drummuir,  an'  Drummuir  o'  Drummuir  he'll  be  till  the 
last  trump  !" 

He  paused,  breathless  with  anger  and  resentment  while 
Marrion  stood  speechless,  the  babe  between  them  lying 
placidly  asleep. 

"  But  Andrew "  she  began  helplessly. 

"  But  I'll  no  thole  it,"  he  continued,  his  whole  ugly  face 
aflame  with  an  emotion  which  made  it  almost  beautiful. 
"See  here,  Marrion  Muir — for  that  you  are — I've  lived 
my  life  thinkin'  ye  were  abune  me,  but  ye'll  be  beneath 
me  if  ye  steal  the  very  name  from  that  poor  bairn.  But 
ye  sail  not  do  it.   I'll  awa  to  Peter  Muir  and  tell  him " 

The  threat  roused  her  and  she  turned  on  him. 

"You  can  do  as  you  like,  Andrew;  but  it  will  be  no 
use.  You  can't  do  anything  without  me.  I  wish  you 
would  be  reasonable  and  listen !  We  promised — the 
colonel  and  I  promised — we  both  promised — and  wc 
promised  each  other " 

"Ye  had  na  the  right  tae  promise!"  he  interrupted 
fiercely.  "  An'  I'll  hear  nae  mair  o'  your  woman's  clatter. 
Yon  babe's  my  master's  son  an'  Lord  Drummuir,  sae  I 
doff  ma  cap  to  him." 

Which  he  did  in  the  stateliest  fashion,  and  then  stalked 
away  without  another  word,  leaving  Marrion  confronted 
with  a  host  of  new  difficulties. 

She  lifted  the  child  up  and  carried  him  back  to  her 
lodgings,  feeling  she  could  do  nothing  to  save  the  situa- 
tion. There  was  little  hope  of  getting  Andrew  to  listen 
to — no,  not  to  reason,  that  had  long  ceased  to  have  any 
3art  in  the  strange  catalogue  of  mistakes — but  to  listen 
co  what  she  had  to  say. 


286  MARMADUKE 

t 

And  what  had  she  to  say?  Her  mind  began 
laboriously  on  the  past,  counting  her  own  mistakes. 
Why  had  she  done  this  ?  Why  had  she  done  that  ?  It 
was  fear  that  had  made  her  do  everything — fear  of  the 
old  man  who  sat  like  a  spider  in  his  web,  the  old  man 
whom  his  own  son  had  wished  her  to  anger,  because  he 
had  been  throughout  the  villain  of  the  piece !  But 
would  he  have  been  so  if  she  had  given  him  the  chance  ? 

I  am  sorry  the  little  chap  died ;  he  would  have  been 
game." 

The  memory  of  those  parting  words  stung  her  to  the 
quick.  What  a  fool  she  had  been !  Why  had  she  not 
gone  at  once  to  Lord  Drummuir  and  told  him  the  truth  ? 
She  had  meant  to  do  so,  but  she  had  been  too  late — too 
late  !     Well,  there  was  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk. 

So  she  sat  going  over  and  over  the  whole  thing  again, 
and  yet  again,  until  late  in  the  evening  the  little  lassie  of 
the  lodgings  brought  her  a  message  that  a  man  who  was 
lying  at  Mistress  McMurdo's  was  feelin'  ill  and  would 
like  to  see  her  just  for  a  little.  The  child  being  asleep 
she  slipped  over  to  the  cottage  to  find  Andrew  Fraser 
once  more  a  prey  to  his  old  enemy,  tropical  fever — a 
quaint,  insistent  enemy  which,  after  lying  low  for  years, 
will  seize  advantage  of  any  disturbance  of  mind  or  body 
to  reassert  itself. 

So  there  he  was,  as  she  had  seen  him  before,  trembling 
and  shaking,  with  a  glitter  in  his  eyes  and  a  flush  on  his 
face,  lying  huddled  up  under  his  military  cloak  on  the 
sofa.  Once  again  he  slipped  his  feet  apologetically  to 
the  ground  as  he  saw  her  and  essayed  to  stand  straight 
— a  pathetic  sight,  his  body  weak,  his  mind  strong — so 
strong  ! 


MARMADUKE  287 

"I'm  sorry,  ma'am,"  he  said,  with  studied  ceremony, 
"if  I  was  over-heated  the  day,  for  you're  my  master's 
wife.  But  it's  no  oorsels,  ye  see.  It's  just  Providence, 
an'  we  daurna  play  Providence.  It's  dangerous  work. 
Sae  I  couldna  help  it,  ma'am.  The  wean's  Drummuir  o' 
D  r  ummuir " 

And  there  he  was  going  over  the  old  ground  again  and 
again. 

She  could  but  try  to  soothe  him  and  leave  him,  know- 
ing in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  nothing  she  could  say 
would  ever  move  him  one  hair's-breadth  from  what  he 
thought  right. 

She  spent  a  restless  night ;  she  could  scarcely  do  other- 
wise. 

"Are  you  gaun  to  steal  the  very  name  frae  the  puir 
bairn  ?"  was  sufficient  to  keep  her  awake.  Once  more 
she  found  herself  in  a  maelstrom  of  doubt.  Wearied  out, 
the  first  blink  of  dawn  rising  clear  and  lucent  over  the 
dark  sea  seemed  to  her  a  godsend.  She  crept  out  of  her 
bed  leaving  the  child  asleep,  and,  dressing  herself, 
wrapped  a  cloak  about  her,  and  so  seating  herself  on  a 
rock  at  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  within  earshot  of  the 
cottage  where  she  lodged,  set  herself  once  more  to  watch 
the  peaceful  coming  of  light,  which  had  so  often  brought 
her  wisdom. 

So  had  it  looked  that  dawning  when  she  and  Duke — 
ah  !  always,  always  she  and  Duke !  How  curiously  Fate 
had  joined  them.  Yet  she  had  disregarded  Fate's 
handiwork  even  while  she  had  told  herself  she  had  been 
aiding  it. 

Far  over  in  the  east  the  light  was  growing.  So  it  had 
grown  that  morning  when  she  and  Duke  swam 


288  MARMADUKE 

She  seemed  to  feel  his  arm  on  her  shoulders,  the  touch 
of  her  arm  on  his  neck,  the  cold  kiss  of  the  bitter  sea 
stinging  soul  and  body  to  new  joyous  life.  She  saw  his 
happy  face  alight  with  laughter. 

"Look!     Isn't  it  worth  it  ?" 

Yes,  it  had  been  worth  it,  well  worth  it !  And  even 
as  on  that  distant  June  morning  while  she  looked,  the 
restless  dark  horizon  of  the  sea  seemed  to  melt  and 
soften,  and  the  path  of  radiant  gold  sent  by  the  first  ray 
of  the  rising  sun  seemed  to  touch  her  feet  and  bring  her 
answer — 

Yes,  life  was  well  worth  it  indeed  ! 

Who  was  she  to  cavil  at  what  Fate  had  done  ?  Who 
was  she  to  worry  over  what  she  thought  she  had  done  ? 
Comprehension  came  to  her,  she  saw  a  clear  and  ordered 
sequence  in  which  even  her  mistakes  bore  their  fitting 
fruit.  Life  seemed  to  hold  no  cares,  no  errors,  no 
animosities. 

What  was  it  Duke  had  said  about  taking  too  much 
wine  that  night  ? 

"  I  shan't  do  it  again,  but  I  shouldn't  have  had  this 
perfectly  stunning  time  if  I  hadn't,  should  I  ?" 

So  it  was  in  her  life.  She  had  had  joy  through  her 
mistakes.  She  and  her  Love  had  been  alone  in  the  Great 
Sea  of  Time  battling  with  the  waves  as  best  they  could. 

Nothing  else  mattered.  They  might  be  waifs  on  that 
sea,  but  they  were  together. 

She  slipped  to  her  knees  and  watched  the  sun  rise. 
Over  how  many  mistakes,  how  many  wasted  minutes  and 
opportunities  and  lives  ! 

Wasted  ?  No — not  wasted.  Even  mistakes  had  their 
appointed  place.     Even  the  old  man  who  had  made  the 


MARMADUKE  289 

castle  over  yonder  a  spider's-web  of  evil  was  part  of  the 
Great  Plan. 

Slowly  the  light  grew.  The  cottages  below  in  the  tiny 
fishing  village  began  to  send  up  thin  blue  threads  of 
smoke.  The  figure  of  a  man  or  a  woman  began  to  pass 
along  the  narrow  causeway.  And  someone  came  up  the 
steps  towards  her  cottage,  then  paused,  seeing  her. 

"  Ye'll  be  Mistress  Marsden  likely ,"  he  said,  "  for  I've 
no  seen  ye  before.  There's  a  saxpence  tae  pay,  but  ye 
can  gie  it  to  the  lassie  for  me  till  I  come  back." 

The  postman  handed  her  a  letter  as  he  spoke  and  went 
on  his  way,  for  his  round  was  a  long  one. 

She  looked  at  the  envelope  curiously.  The  original 
address  was  almost  undecipherable,  being  defaced  with 
innumerable  new  ones,  or  brief  notices,  "Gone  away;" 
"  Try  so  and  so." 

Still  the  name  was  hers.  A  bill  likely,  sent  to  her  old 
London  address  and  forwarded  to  the  Crimea  and  back 
again.  Twice,  so  it  seemed  to  her  as  she  tried  to  decipher 
the  postmarks. 

Then  she  opened  it,  noting  with  a  vague  spasm  of 
memory  that  a  curious  embossed  presentment  of  fox- 
hounds in  full  cry  ran  right  across  the  flap.  Where  had 
she  seen  that  device  before  ? 

Surely  on  some  envelope  that  Marmaduke — 

The  writing  too  was  vaguely  familiar.  The  writing 
of  a  person  with  brains,  but  strangely  shaky  and 
irregular  : 

"  Dear  Madam, 

"  Since  my  son  Marsaaduke  has  chosen  to  deprive 
me  of  the  possibility  of  an  heir  by  dying — not  even  on  the 


290  M  ARMADUKE 

field  of  battle — out  at  Varna,  I  return  the  enclosed.  I 
don't  know  why  I  kept  it.  To  have  a  hold  over  the 
young  man  at  bottom,  I  expect.  Perhaps  for  other 
reasons.  One  doesn't  often  meet  women  of  your  descrip- 
tion.    Anyhow,  I  haven't. 

"You  can  now  claim  your  position  and  dowry,  which 
my  d d  cousin  can  very  well  afford  to  pay. 

"Besides,  you  are  worth  providing  for;  more,  at  any 
rate  than  my  Lady  and  Penelope,  and  I  have  done  that. 
So  I  die  quits ;  except  for  my  son  Peter.  Why  didn't  he 
get  cholera  instead  of  Marmaduke  ?  I  could  have  spared 
him. 

°  Yours, 

"  Drummuir." 

The  enclosure  was  the  copy  of  the  marriage  lines  which 
she  thought  she  had  seen  the  old  lord  in  the  act  of  de- 
stroying as  she  had  left  the  room. 

Yes,  across  the  middle  fold  the  beginning  of  a  tear 
slit  the  paper. 

She  sat  with  the  letter  in  her  hand  until  the  cry  of  a 
child  made  her  rise  hastily  and  go  to  her  task  of  mother- 
hood. 


L'ENVOI 

"  And  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Peter  Muir,  when  he  had 
heard  her  tale,  "  that  knowing  this  imp,"  he  looked  at  the 
child  she  carried,  "  who  is  to  turn  me  out,  was  on  the  way 
you  burnt  that  paper  found  in  Marmaduke's  despatch- 
box  ?  I  give  up.  Thank  God  one  does  not  often  meet 
women  of  your  description  !" 

But  as  he  spoke  he  was  looking  in  the  child's  face. 

"  He  will  be  the  image  of  his  father,"  he  remarked  at 
last,  "  and,  dash  it  all !  but  I  am  glad,  yes,  glad  he's 
here!"  Then,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  turned 
away.  "  It  will  be  a  sell  for  the  Jews,  Tm  afraid,  though 
it  serves  the  horse-leeches  very  well  right !" 

"  It  need  not  be  a  sell  at  all,"  replied  Marrion.  "  The 
child  shall  have  the  title — he  must  have  that — but  not 
one  penny  of  the  money  shall  he  take  till  the  debts  are 
paid,  Mr.  Peter !  I  know  the  law.  I  have  studied  it  to 
find  out  where  I  stand;  and  you  are  the  boy's  natural 
guardian.  I" — she  spoke  bitterly — "am  only  the 
mother.  I  have  no  say.  But  I  am  going  to  buy  freedom 
from  you.  Live  here — promise  me  that — use  the  monies 
as  your  own.  Keep  the  old  place  up  for  the  child ;  but  I 
will  take  him  for  myself.  I  will  bring  him  up  away  from 
the  evil  traditions  of  this  old  house,  and  when  he  comes 
back  to  it,  a  man  grown,  he  will  be  different — even  from 
his  father — even,  I  hope,  from  me  !" 

So  she  said  then,  but  as  the  years  passed  little  Lord 

291 


292  MARMADUKE 

Drummuir  came  more  than  once  to  visit  his  invalid  uncle, 
for  Peter,  away  from  the  excitements  of  town  life,  defied 
the  doctors  for  a  time.  And  from  the  Carpathian  pine 
woods  the  little  lad  travelled  more  than  once  to  a  solitary 
cairn  on  the  Balkan  hills  by  the  side  of  which  Andrew 
Fraser — who  never  ceased  rejoicing  that  his  plain  speak- 
ing had  shown  Marrion  the  wickedness  of  stealing  the 
bairn's  name — would  tell  him  marvellous  tales  of  the 
dead  colonel,  his  father,  and  of  his  prowess  in  every  way. 

The  honest  fellow  had  but  one  care.  The  double  title 
was  the  fly  in  the  honey-pot,  and  when  the  old  Princess 
would  ask,  "  Where  is  Prince  Pauloffski  ?"  Andrew  would 
invariably  reply :  "  Lord  Drummuir  is  waiting  on  his 
mother." 

Thus  the  game  of  life  went  on  and  it  was  well  worth  it. 

But  perhaps,  as  Marrion  often  told  herself,  the  honours 
lay  with  one  who  in  that  life  had  been  the  curse  of  his 
family. 


BILLING   AND   SONS,   LTD.,    PRINTERS,   GUILDFORD     ENGLAND 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 
or  to  the 
NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 


ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6233 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


.Jill  18  MM 


.rmadukc 

m 

JUL 

ui  <v<^ 

\jv 

i  r>  v*-  ►•* 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


